Hunted Past Reason

by Richard Matheson

  "No. Jesus." Bob was impressed.

  "And each foot has twenty-six functional bones," Doug continued.

  "No kidding," Bob said. "How do you know all this stuff?"

  "I can read too," Doug said.

  What the hell does that mean? Bob wondered.

  "All right, they're leather, that's good. You never buy plastic."

  Plastic? Bob reacted. Who in the hell would buy plastic shoes for hiking?

  Doug was running his hands over Bob's boots. "Light-weight, that's good," he said. "You won't need heavyweight boots for a hike this short. Ankle-high, good. Padded ankle collar." He grimaced a little. "Well . . . nylon uppers don't need any break-in, but—"

  "What?" Bob asked.

  "I prefer leather uppers, they last longer, have more resistance." He stood up, grunting. "No matter. Yours'll be fine. You told the salesman to give you an extra half inch of toe room, didn't you?"

  "No." Bob frowned. "You never told me that."

  "I must have forgotten," Doug said. "It's nothing fatal. Although it does help to have that extra half inch when you're doing steep downhill hiking. You did wear a pair of thick socks when you were trying them on, didn't you?"

  "Yep." Bob nodded, trying not to sound bored, which he was getting.

  "Water seal the boots?" Doug asked.

  "Yes."

  "Cut your toenails?"

  "What?" Bob laughed at the question.

  "Not a joke," Doug said. "You're going to be doing a lot of walking. Overlong toenails can cause problems."

  "Oh, Jesus." Bob made a face. "Well, I don't think they're too long."

  "We'll check 'em later," Doug said. "I have a clipper in case you need it."

  Bob repressed a sigh but not enough. Doug looked at him with mild accusation. "Bob," he said, "I'm not talking just to hear the sound of my voice. I've been backpacking for years. Everything I'm telling you is pertinent."

  "All right, all right, I'm sorry again, I apologize. I realize you're just trying to help me."

  "Good." Doug patted him on the shoulder. "Just a few more things and we'll be on our way."

  "Shoot," Bob said. "Not with your bow, of course."

  Doug gave him a token chuckle, then went on. "Got gaiters?" he asked.

  "What?"

  "Gaiters. Like leggings. Helps keep your lower pants dry, safe from thorns. Keeps sand and dirt out of your shoes. Rain."

  "Rain again," Bob said. "You know something I don't?"

  "No, no," Doug answered. "Just a precaution. I did mention gaiters, though."

  Bob nodded. No, you didn't, he remembered.

  "You have polyprop long johns?" Doug asked.

  "Uh-huh." Bob nodded. Let's get on our way then, he thought.

  His mind blanked out a little as Doug ran through what seemed to be a lecture about using the "layering" system to dress; each item of clothing working in combination with the others to deal with any change in the weather, hot or cold.

  Lower layer, the long johns, socks; middle layer, shirt or vest, pile pants; outer layer, windbreaker, jacket, boots. Bob's jacket was quilted, not down; that was good. If down got wet, it took forever to dry. Was Bob's jacket seam-sealed? Bob didn't know; he did not attempt to repress a sigh. Doug went on as though he didn't notice. No snaps on Bob's poncho, not good. In a wind, it would blow out like a boat sail. Snaps would prevent that. What kind of weather we planning on? Bob asked. Never know, was all Doug answered.

  "Are we ready to go now?" Bob asked.

  "No, no, no, no," Doug said scoldingly. "There are several more important things."

  "Jesus, Doug. Are we going to have any time to walk before dark?"

  Doug looked at him in silence.

  "I know. I know," Bob said apologetically. "Important things."

  "You doubt it?" Doug said irritably.

  "No," Bob sighed. "I'm just . . . anxious to get going, that's all."

  "So am I, Bobby, believe me," Doug said gravely. "But if we go off half cocked, you'll regret it. I know how to do all this. You don't. So, for Christ's sake, show a little patience. You'll be glad later about what we're doing now."

  Bob nodded, looking guilty. "I know, I'm sorry. I'll say no more."

  "Don't worry, we'll be on our way in no time," Doug reassured him. "Let's just get through it."

  "All right. Lay on, Macduff."

  Doug chuckled. "Let's check your food supply," he said.

  "Right." Bob took out what he'd brought. "Monologue time," he said. "All food in plastic bags, a few small boxes of orange juice, no cans. Cereal. Beans. Powdered milk. Sugar. Powdered eggs. A packet of cheese. Instant coffee. Nuts. Chocolate."

  "Good," Doug said. "Chocolate has all kinds of valuable ingredients. B vitamins. Magnesium. Good for you."

  "Marian would be happy to hear that," Bob told him.

  Doug chuckled a little. "The powdered milk is good too," he said. "Lots of protein and calcium. Phosphorous. Vitamin D. Perfect in a survival situation."

  "A survival situation?" Bob asked. "I thought we were just going for a hike."

  Doug looked at him askance. "Just a phrase," he said.

  "Glad to hear it," Bob answered.

  "So what else you got?"

  "Raisins. Powdered potatoes. A little bread. Two oranges, two apples. Energy bars. And, of course, my chicken à la king with rice, turkey tetrazzini, beef almondine."

  "Actually, you may have more food than you need," Doug told him.

  Bob made a face. "Don't tell me that," he said.

  "No tragedy," Doug told him. He picked up a pamphlet from Bob's pack. "What's this?"

  Bob took the pamphlet and looked at it, laughed.

  "What?" Doug asked.

  "Survival in the Wilderness." Bob read the pamphlet's title. "Marian must have slipped it in there when I wasn't looking."

  "Doubt if you'll need it," Doug said with a snicker.

  "I doubt it too." Bob slipped the pamphlet into his shirt pocket.

  "Well, you seem to be in pretty good shape, food-wise," Doug told him. "Plenty of carbohydrates— the staple of a hiker's diet. You have enough water to see us through the afternoon?"

  Bob showed him his filled water bottle.

  "It'll do, I guess," Doug said dubiously. "I think I told you to get a wide-mouth halgene bottle though. Easier to clean. Easier to fill from a stream or spring. Easier to get a spoon into."

  "They didn't have any," Bob said quietly.

  "All right, all right, no tragedy," Doug replied. "I see you have some water packets too. They're good in a pinch. What else have you got?"

  "Pair of folding eyeglasses. Not that I think I'll be doing any reading."

  Doug snickered. "Doubt it," he said.

  "And a small pair of folding binoculars," Bob told him.

  Doug made an indeterminate sound. "Won't hurt," he said. "You might get some use out of them. How about toiletries?"

  Dear God, this is going to go on forever, Bob thought. We'll end up camping right here for the week. He took the plastic bag out of his pack. "Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Skin lotion. Sun block. Multivitamins."

  "Let's see." Doug held out his hand and Bob handed him the small container. He read the ingredients. "Not bad," he said. "Two, three hundred milligrams of Vitamin C, Vitamin A, good. Vitamin B-1. Vitamin D. Potassium. Sodium. Calcium. Iron." He tossed the container back. "It'll do," he said in a tone that indicated it really wasn't good enough.

  My cup runneth over, Bob thought.

  "And—?" Doug asked.

  "Uh . . . oh," Bob said. "Water purification tablets."

  "Safer to boil the water," Doug told him. "Boiling time varies with height above sea level. Best to boil it for ten minutes wherever you are. And remember, drink before you get thirsty. Thirst is an alarm signal. Don't wait for it. Remember, when you sweat it's ninety-nine percent water."

  "Do I—?"

  "Use your urine color as an indicator. If it's darker than usual, you're not drinking enough."r />
  "Okay." No point in asking questions, Bob thought.

  "Pint every half hour," Doug told him.

  Bob nodded.

  "What else you got?" Doug asked.

  "Oh . . . toilet paper," Bob told him. "Deodorant."

  "Deodorant?" Doug chuckled. "You afraid your b.o. will offend the squirrels?"

  "Just a habit," Bob said.

  "All right, no tragedy."

  Tragedy? Bob thought. How could using a deodorant be a tragedy?

  "What's that?" Doug said, pointing.

  Bob took out a plastic bag with six mini-bottles of vodka in it. "Thought it might be nice to have a little drink at the end of the—"

  "Not a good idea, Bob," Doug broke in. "Alcohol impairs the judgment. Dehydrates the body. Decreases the appetite. Not good."

  "Jesus, Doug, one mini-bottle before dinner? That's hardly boozing one's way through the forest primeval."

  "Well." Doug shrugged. "Okay. Your call. You'll have to carry out the bottles though, you know."

  "Oh, Christ, I forgot about that."

  Doug chuckled. "Law of the wilderness, Bobby," he said. "You'll remember all this next time." He chuckled again. "If there is a next time."

  "You don't think there will be?" Bob asked.

  "Let's just say I hope you rented all this equipment." When Bob didn't reply, Doug made a face of mock pain. "Ooh," he said, "that's a lot of money for one hike." He gestured vaguely. "Though I suppose you'll get a hell of a lot more money when you sell your novel."

  Bob didn't know how to respond to that. It crossed his mind how ironic it was that Doug had decried the mini-bottles of vodka. He'd seen Doug put away two six-packs of beer on more than one occasion.

  "What about cookware?" Doug asked.

  Without a word, Bob showed him the two small aluminum pots nestled together with a lid that could be used for a frying pan.

  "Should be marked for measurements," Doug said. "However. Cup?"

  Bob showed him his metal Sierra cup. Doug made a face. "Should have gotten a plastic one like I told you. This one could burn your lips as well as cool down hot liquids too fast."

  Backpacking One, Professor Crowley, Bob thought. Was there going to be a written exam after all this?

  "Okay, you got a spoon and knife," Doug said. "You have a hunting knife too?"

  Bob opened his jacket to show the knife in its sheath.

  "That's not a knife," Doug said, imitating Crocodile Dundee. "This is a knife."

  He reached into his pack and pulled out what looked like a small machete. "Golak," he told Bob.

  "Jesus," Bob said. "Are we going for a hike or a war?"

  "Never know," Doug answered.

  For Christ's sake, what does that mean? Bob wondered. He decided not to ask.

  "A few more things," Doug said, "but I have them with me so you don't have to worry about them. Flashlight with extra bulbs and batteries. I see that you have one too— that's good. Waterproof matches. First-aid kit, whistle; I have two, I'll give you one of them."

  "Whistle?" Bob asked.

  "In case you get lost, Bobby," Doug said. Marian was right. Doug sounded exactly as though he were talking to a ten-year old.

  "Trowel." Doug held it up.

  "What's that for?" Bob asked.

  "You plan to bury your shit with your hands?" Doug said. It was hardly a question. He grinned at Bob. "You'll borrow mine," he said. "It'll bond us."

  Bob had to laugh at that.

  "You have your sunglasses," Doug went on. "One more thing before we get our packs on. Your sleeping bag."

  Bob showed it to him. Doug shook it open. Oh, Christ, Bob thought, it took me long enough to get it folded right.

  "Down-filled mummy bag, yeah, that's good," Doug said. "I'm glad you listened to me on that anyway."

  That's right, I ignored everything else on the list you gave me, Bob thought. Christ.

  "Not too much loft," Doug said, patting the mummy bag.

  "Loft?" Bob asked.

  "Insulation," Doug told him. "The more air there is between you and the ground, the warmer you'll be. It's pretty heavy though, should keep you warm. Heavier than it needs to be actually."

  Make up your mind, Dougie, Bob thought.

  Doug checked the sleeping bag more closely. "Should have a zipper at the top and the bottom," he said. "Helps cool you off on a warmnight."

  Jesus! Bob thought. Which one will it be, staying warm or staying cool?

  "Well, pack up and we'll be on our way," Doug told him.

  Thank God, Bob thought. He started to roll up his sleeping bag. Please don't tell me I'm doing it wrong, he thought. I'm sure I am.

  Doug sat down on a boulder, yawning and stretching.

  "What you have is an internal-frame backpack," he said. "Pretty compact, fits better. Makes it easier to maintain your balance no matter what kind of ground you're walking on. Most backpackers prefer the internal frame."

  Which means, of course, that you don't prefer it, Bob guessed.

  "I prefer the external-frame type," Doug said. Bob was glad his back was turned away so Doug wouldn't see his cheeks puff out in a stifled laugh. "Better air circulation on the back. Easier to pack. Can carry more weight. Though God knows that isn't what you'd want right now."

  No, not at all, Bob thought in amusement as he started to repack his bag.

  "No, you wouldn't want more weight, you'd want less," Doug went on.

  Yes, sir, Professor Crowley, Bob thought.

  "They say a pack for any kind of extended trip should be about a third of the hiker's weight. What do you weigh, Bobby?"

  "Two hundred."

  "That would be—" Doug was quiet for a few moments before saying, "about sixty-five pounds." He chuckled. "You'd last about twenty minutes," he said.

  "Doug, I'm not that weak," Bob told him, trying to not sound irritated.

  "Not saying you are, kiddo," Doug said. "You just don't know what sixty-five pounds on your back would feel like."

  "I suppose." Bob was trying to repack his food supply compactly.

  "Fortunately, I'll be carrying the tent and the ground pads," Doug said.

  "Yes, don't forget to tell me what I owe you on them," Bob told him.

  "For the tent, nothing, I already own it," Doug said. "I'll get you on the ground pad later." He chuckled. "And the whistle."

  "And the whistle," Bob said good-naturedly.

  "Here, put it in your pocket," Doug told him.

  "Okay, thanks," Bob said. Doug knows a hell of a lot about all this, he told himself. Be grateful for his knowledge. So he is a little abrasive about it, so what? He's doing me a hell of a favor taking me on this hike. Appreciate it; don't keep niggling at his little lectures. They don't matter, not at all.

  Anyway, what do I have to complain about? he thought. I need to know all this stuff for my novel. I should stop the internal kvetching and take notes, for chrissake.

  "Yeah, if you manage twenty-five, thirty pounds you'll be doing good," Doug said. "Make sure you put stuff you'll only be using when we camp inside the pack. Anything you might want to use on the trail, put in one of the outer pockets. Put things in the same places all the time too so you don't have to search for them every time you need them. And make sure you pack the stove and fuel in an outer pocket in case there's a leak, you got that?"

  Bob tried not to sigh. "Got it," he said.

  "All for your safety, buddy," Doug reminded him.

  "I know. I appreciate it," Bob said. Say no more, he told himself.

  "Okay, let's try it on for size," Doug said, standing.

  "Right." Bob picked up his pack and tried to swing it around his right shoulder. "Whoa!" he cried as the weight of the pack pulled him over, almost making him fall.

  "And that, class, is the wrong way to don your backpack," Doug said. His smile was smug but Bob laughed anyway. "Guess I could use a little instruction here," he said.

  "Guess you could." Doug took the pack from him. "Now wat
ch what I do," he said.

  "I'm watching."

  "First you loosen your shoulder, load lifter, and hip stabilizer straps a little bit. They're all padded, that's good."

  Bob nodded as Doug loosened the straps slightly.

  "Got that?" Doug asked.

  "Yeah."

  "You have to establish a routine for fitting the pack each time you put it on," Doug told him. "Next you bend your knees like so . . . swing the pack onto your thigh and— slide under the shoulder straps in one quick movement. Got it?"

  "Got it." Bob nodded.

  "All right, the pack is on your back. What comes next?"

  "With me, probably collapse."

  "Come on, Bobby, I'm trying to tell you something here."

  "Yeah, okay, okay. I presume you tighten the straps back up."

  "Not yet," Doug said. "First you lean forward and cinch the waist belt . . . like so. It should sit right above and on your hips. Next, you straighten up, settle the pack on your hips, then pull your shoulder straps tight."

  "Whoa," Bob muttered.

  "What?"

  "Complicated."

  "No, it isn't." Doug shook his head. "Do it a few times and you'll do it without thinking. All right. Next you buckle the sternum strap . . . so. Then you tighten— you did try this pack on, didn't you?"

  "Sure." Bob nodded. "The salesman never told me all this stuff though."

  "They never do," Doug said. "All right, next you retighten the load lifter straps and hip stabilizer straps— that'll keep the pack from swaying while you're walking."

  "Hope I remember all this," Bob said, looking confused.

  "You will," Doug told him. "Otherwise, you'll end up with raw spots on your neck and hips and God knows where else."

  With movements so fast Bob couldn't follow them, Doug was out of the pack and holding it out. "Okay, let's see you do it now," he said.

  3:58 PM

  My God, it's gorgeous, Bob thought as he walked along the trail behind Doug. The forest was deeply green with splashes of glowing gold from the maple leaves. One of them fell now and then, fluttering to the ground in slow, vivid loops. The only sound was that of pine needles crackling beneath their boots as they walked; two miles an hour on flat ground, one mile an hour on harder terrain, Doug had said.

  Bob drew in a deep lungful of air. Like a fine white wine, he thought, crisp and pure. He smiled at the image. He was glad he had come. Now that all the lecturing was done, Doug had been quiet for more than a half hour except for asking Bob to let him know when he felt the need to stop and rest. So far, he'd said nothing even though his legs were starting to feel a little tired. The pack on his back seemed to grow heavier with every minute. Carefully packed, riding high, no more than twenty-five pounds he estimated, it still felt as though he were carrying an anvil on his back.