Wilderness Double Edition 26

by David Robbins

  “But the Thing,” Lou said.

  “Knows right where we are. But with our backs to this boulder, it can only get at us from the front.”

  Lou did not like the idea, but she did as he asked. Holding the pistol in both hands, she drew back the hammer. “Why hasn’t it jumped us yet?”

  “Who knows?” Zach rejoined. He was just glad it hadn’t. He had no illusions about the outcome, not when all he had was a knife and with his ankle swollen like it was.

  “We need your rifle and the other pistol,” Lou said. With them they stood a chance of holding the creature off.

  “They could be anywhere,” Zach said.

  “I doubt they fell far from the tree,” Lou said. “I’ll go look.”

  Zach grabbed her wrist as she started to stand. “You’ll do no such thing. We stick together.”

  “Three guns are better than one,” Lou persisted. The rifle most of all. She had seen her husband drop a bull buffalo at two hundred yards with it.

  “I need to rest my ankle,” Zach said, “and we are not separating.” He was not letting her out of his sight.

  A growl from out of the ink ended their argument. Lou raised her pistol, but had nothing to shoot. “Do you see it?”

  Zach shook his head. He waited for the Thing to growl again and it did, but from a different spot. “It’s moving,” he warned. “Circling us.”

  Lou pushed onto a knee. “Stay behind me when it charges. I won’t let it get you.”

  Most men would be pleased to have a wife who cared so much, she would sacrifice her life for his. But her words stung Zach to his core. He was the husband. He should be the one protecting her, not the other way around. Accordingly, gritting his teeth, he slowly stood. Lou had her back to him and did not notice.

  “There!” she suddenly cried, and pointed.

  Zach saw it, too. A large bearlike shape to their left. The pounding thud of heavy feet smote his ears a split second before he realized the Thing was charging. He hobbled past Lou, the knife in front of him.

  “What do you think you are doing?”

  Her question was never answered. For even as Zach set himself, the Thing was on him.

  Louisa screamed.

  Seventeen

  Zach King slashed the knife out and up and felt it bite flesh. Then he was swept off his feet and flung into the air. The sky and the ground changed places. He crashed down hard. Dazed, he might have lain there indefinitely had Lou not cried out.

  “Let go of me!”

  Zach heaved off the ground and lurched to her aid. His ankle protested, but he forced his leg to move.

  Lou was furiously battling the Thing. It had one arm around her waist and was trying to pin her arms with the other. Intent on her to the exclusion of all else, the Thing was unaware of Zach’s approach.

  Zach sank the hunting knife into the creature’s back.

  The howl that rose to the roiling clouds drowned out the wind. The Thing let go of Lou and spun. It towered over Zach, its features contorted in rage. Zach had yanked the knife out as the Thing turned, and now he thrust the bloody blade at its chest. By rights the point should have sheared the Thing’s brutish heart. But Zach had forgotten how incredibly quick it was. His arm was seized and nearly wrenched from the socket. It was all Zach could do to hold on to the hilt. Another instant, and he was given a shove that sent him stumbling. His ankle a wellspring of raw pain, he started back toward them. But he was too late.

  The Thing had scooped Lou into an arm and was bounding up the slope.

  “No!” Zach gave chase, but he could not possibly hope to catch them, even if his ankle was not sprained.

  Lou was beating at the monster’s face and neck and kicking at its groin. The thick bear hide protected it, but she did clip its nose and hit his throat squarely. Yet her punches had no more effect than if she had swatted the Thing with paper. Then she saw an eye fixed on her in anger and she reacted without any thought for the consequences; she raked her nails across the eyeball.

  The Thing’s cry of torment was the loudest yet. It threw Lou down and covered its stricken eye with a huge hand.

  Lou came up in a crouch. She had no intention of fighting it, and she whirled to race to Zach. Before she could take a step, a tree-trunk leg slammed into her chest, flipping her like a coin. She struck a tree and collapsed. On the verge of passing out, she saw her husband, limping badly, almost to the creature. “Zach! No!”

  A red haze had fallen over Zach’s eyes. Rage boiled in him like scalding water. Over and over in his brain pounded the same thought: The Thing had hurt Lou, the Thing had hurt Lou, the Thing had hurt Lou.

  The Thing was hunched over and still had a hand over its eye. Blood trickled between its fingers and down its cheek. It must have heard or sensed Zach, because suddenly it turned.

  Zach thrust the hunting knife into the Thing’s chest. Again he went for the heart. But all the man-beast did was glance down, grunt, and unleash an open-handed blow that nearly knocked Zach loose of his moccasins.

  Flat on his back, the world spinning, Zach saw the creature loom over him. He tried to rise to defend himself, but his body would not cooperate. A bear-paw hand reached for his throat, and the Thing bared its teeth in anticipation. Wet drops spattered Zach’s face. He thought for a second they were drops of blood from the wounds he had inflicted.

  More drops fell, cold drops in a driving rain.

  The Thing paused. It tilted its great head back and gaped skyward in fascination, as a small child might do.

  Zach scrambled away. Arms and legs churning, he scuttled until he came up against a boulder. By then the rain was descending in driving sheets. He could not see the Thing. Nor could the Thing see him. A roar warned him the abomination had discovered its quarry was no longer at its feet.

  Zach had lost his hold on the knife. He was unarmed and virtually defenseless. He groped wildly about for a jagged rock or a branch or anything else he could use as a weapon.

  The cascading torrent was making so much noise, Zach did not hear the Thing come toward him. He saw it, though, when it hove out of the deluge. Why the Thing did not see him, he would never know. But it sloshed on past, a gigantic lumbering waterfall.

  Zach stiffly rose. He moved toward where he had last seen Lou, or where he thought he had seen her. It was impossible to tell in the downpour. Everything was a wet blur, even his own hand at arm’s length. His sense of direction was skewed; he could not even tell north from south or east from west. He had to rely on instinct.

  Zach went as far as thought he should have to go but did not find her. He searched in small circles, then larger ones. Fear chewed at his vitals. Maybe the Thing had found her first and was carrying her off, back up to its lair in the glacier.

  Which direction was up? Zach wondered. The rain was so heavy, he couldn’t say. He walked faster, heedless of his fear. He searched and searched. Repeatedly he bumped into trees and boulders or became entangled in brush. For hours he hunted, his despair mounting until he was nearly beside himself.

  Eventually fatigue and his ankle would not be denied. Zach sank to his knees with his forehead on the ground, closed his eyes, and did something he had not done since he became a man; he cried. He could not stop the tears if he tried, and he did not try. More fully than ever, he realized how much Louisa meant to him. He had never loved anyone as much as he loved her. No, not even his parents or his sister, and he loved them dearly

  Zach quietly shed tears until there were no tears left to shed. He did not get back up. He stayed there, eyes shut, soaked to the skin, his ankle throbbing, his bruises hurting, and waited for the rain to end or dawn to break, whichever came first.

  As it turned out, both occurred about the same time.

  He was conscious of the rain slackening and the wind dying. He raised his head and opened his eyes and beheld a brighter world than when he had shut them. The rain ended just as a golden crescent promised a rebirth of the sun. The clouds were breaking up. The storm ha
d gone on down the mountain and was drenching the valley floor and the comfortable cabin they had forsaken for their romantic frolic.

  Zach snorted. From now on he would confine his romancing to their bedroom. They would live longer that way.

  The notion sobered him. Zach rose and tested his ankle. It ached but not quite as severely. He was facing east and turned to the northwest, in the direction of the glacier. Astonishment rooted him in place, but only until his heart swelled near to bursting. “Lou!” he cried, and ran limping toward her with his arms spread wide.

  Lou had spent a god-awful night, soaked and miserable and worried sick about Zach. She had tried to find him. Hour after hour she hunted, always in dread of encountering the Thing. But she came across neither of them, and about an hour before sunrise she curled up under the overspreading boughs of an evergreen. She did not think she could sleep, given her emotional state, but she surprised herself.

  Now the rain had ended and the sun was rising, and Lou stepped out from under the tree. She was terribly cold and as hungry as could be, but neither compared to the ache in her heart. She was afraid the Tiling had killed the man who meant more to her than life itself. “Oh, Zach,” she whispered forlornly. “What will I do without you?”

  Then Lou heard her name and looked up in disbelief and joy. She flew to him, flew into his arms and hugged him to her and kissed his cheeks and his chin and his forehead and uttered endearments that in public would make her blush. They clung to one another in the ferocity of their love, the world around them forgotten.

  Suddenly Zach scooped her into his arms and carried her under the tree. “We will rest awhile and dry out some.”

  But they did not rest, and what little drying they did went unnoticed.

  It was the middle of the morning when Zach roused and sat up. The forest had a fresh vitality about it, courtesy of the storm. Everything looked shiny and new. He gently shook Lou. “We should be on our way.”

  With the sun up much of their confidence was restored. The Thing hated the daylight. It always sought cover. They had ten hours to put as many miles behind them as they could. With luck they would cover so much ground, the Thing would never find them.

  They hiked along hand in hand, smiling, happy, until a loud grunt from out of a stand of aspens reminded them they were weaponless. They hunkered, thinking a grizzly had caught their scent, and they had gone from the proverbial frying pan into the fire. But it was a small black bear that shambled into view. It had no inkling they were there and went off to the north grumbling to itself in typical bear fashion.

  “Bears and men have a lot in common,” Lou whispered as they moved on.

  “So do women and shrews.”

  Lou poked him with an elbow, and smiled. “Tease me all you want. Nothing can spoil my mood today.”

  But she was wrong. Something could spoil it, and did, when an unearthly howl rent the clear, bright air, causing birds to take nervous wing and sending deer into panicked flight. They turned and raked the woodland but saw only vegetation.

  “It’s close,” Lou whispered.

  “Too close.” Zach looked around, spotted a fist-sized rock with a sawtooth edge, and snatched it up.

  “But this can’t be,” Lou said. “The light hurts its eyes.”

  “Maybe it wants you bad enough, it doesn’t care.” Zach clasped her hand and backed down the mountain until he was sure they were not being pursued. Then he broke into an awkward jog, awkward because he could not put his full weight on his sprained ankle.

  “What do we do if it catches up to us?”

  “Need you ask? We kill the son of a bitch.”

  “With a rock?”

  She had a point, Zach mused. They needed something better. A spear would be nice, but without a knife he could not sharpen a suitable limb. A club would serve better than the rock, but he did not put much faith in being able to stop the Thing with one. Still, he cast about until he found a downed branch that was thick enough. He trimmed it using the sawtooth rock and broke off one end. A few trial swings against a pine convinced him the club would not shatter when he needed it most.

  Lou took the sawtooth rock. “I almost blinded it once. With this I can do a better job.”

  Zach hoped to God the Thing did not get its hands on her again. He would do anything to prevent that. Even to losing his life to save hers.

  They hiked on, the shadows of the tall trees alternating with bright patches of sunlight. Here and there sunbeams shimmered like pillars of ethereal flax. The forest in all its pristine glory stretched before them.

  “Notice something?” Lou asked.

  “How cute your button nose is?”

  “No. Notice how quiet it is. On a day like this the birds should be singing and squirrels should be making a racket. But there is nothing. No sounds at all.”

  Zach had in fact noticed, but he had not said anything to avoid worrying her more than she already was. He shrugged. “It could be anything.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Zachary King,” Louisa scolded. “It’s one thing and one thing only. The Thing. That hideous beast who has been tormenting us. He must be near.”

  “Not in the daytime, remember?” Zach said. “He’s holed up somewhere. He won’t be after us until dark.” Zach did not feel as confidant as he tried to sound. The Thing shunned daylight, yes, but that did not necessarily mean it could not be abroad if it wanted to be. He looked at the club in his hand. He would gladly trade it for a pistol or a knife.

  “I hope you’re right,” Lou said.

  The minutes became hours.

  Their spirits were determined, but their bodies were tired and battered, and by one in the afternoon they were both dragging.

  “We should rest,” Lou proposed.

  Zach did not want to stop. Distance equated to safety. He had been pushing to cover a lot of ground so he could spare Lou yet more terror.

  “Please,” Louisa said when he did not respond. “I’m wore out. If we don’t stop I’ll keel over before too long.”

  “Very well,” Zach said. A tiny voice deep inside prodded him to keep going, but he halted and stood watching their back trail as she wearily sank down with her back to a tree.

  “I’m thirsty enough to drink the lake,” Lou commented.

  During the violence of the night they had drifted from the vicinity of the stream. Zach figured it was north of them and offered to go find it.

  “Not alone, you don’t,” Lou said. “We stay together from here on out.”

  Zach had no objection. She stood and they moved quietly through the greenery, expecting at any moment to hear the familiar gurgle.

  “Where is it?” Lou wondered. “We can’t have strayed that far.”

  It was obvious they had. In the heavy rain and the dark and confusion they had drifted a considerable way. Zach squinted at the sun, and stopped. “Can you hold out until evening?” A day without water would not kill her, but he did not say that out loud. Some remarks a husband should keep to himself.

  “If I have to.” Lou had endured worse.

  Zach held her hand and they bent their steps down a succession of thickly wooded and not so wooded slopes. By the sun it was pushing four o’clock when they crossed a grassy bench and came to a slope covered with rank after rank of shadowed firs.

  “Not more of those,” Zach said.

  “It’s dark in there,” Lou remarked. She glanced at the sun to reassure herself they had hours yet before it set.

  “We can go around,” Zach suggested. He did not like the firs, either. They grew too close together.

  “And waste a lot of time we can’t afford to waste,” Lou said. “Maybe it’s best if we push on.”

  Zach nodded. Their shoulders touching, they moved along a narrow aisle between lodgepoles. A preternatural gloom pervaded the stillness. Not so much as a chirp or a flutter of wings. Even the breeze did not penetrate. There was just the two of them and the trees and the shadows.

  “Maybe we should have
gone around,” Lou said.

  Zach did not remember passing through this particular belt of firs on the ride up. He was hoping they would come to the end soon, but the firs went on and on and on.

  “When we get home,” Lou said, “the first thing I’m going to do is heat water and fill the washbasin to the brim. A hot bath would do wonders.”

  Zach never cared for hot baths, himself. He preferred a morning dip in the cold, clear lake.

  “Then I will put on clean buckskins and cook a meal fit for a regiment. So much food, we’ll explode if we eat it all.”

  “Eggs for me,” Zach said, his mouth watering at the delicious prospect. “Ten or twelve, scrambled.”

  Lou warmed to the subject. It took her mind off what might be out there. “I should think you would want a thick, juicy slab of venison. I know I do. With potatoes and peas from the garden. And a slice or two of bread smothered in that butter your mother makes. For dessert we can have pie and pudding, both. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds as if in five years I’ll be calling you fatty.”

  Louisa laughed, the first time she had done so since she had been abducted. She turned to hug him, the laugh dying in her throat when a crepitant growl seemed to issue from all directions at once.

  Zach whirled and raised his club. The growl died before he could tell where it came from.

  “It could be a bear or a mountain lion,” Lou whispered. Her rock suddenly seemed less than useless.

  “You know better.” Zach motioned, and ran as fast as he could. Lou matched him step for step. Ordinarily he was far swifter, but his ankle would not let him go full speed.

  “I don’t see it anywhere.”

  Neither did Zach. But it was shadowing them. He was sure. He stared ahead, looking for the end of the firs. Their best hope lay in reaching a meadow or some other open space.

  “There!” Lou shouted, and pointed.

  A gargantuan shape had flitted between firs to their right. One instant it was there and the next it was gone. But there was no mistaking what it was. Bears did not lope on two legs.