Denver waited until things cleared a bit, performed a few stretching exercises, exchanged a quick glance with
Fitz, and took off at a comfortable pace. Why rush and wear yourself out? There was no prize for first place. The winners got to the top; the losers did not - a simple equation.
Some appeared to pack together for support, there were several couples, but most were on their own. No matter, he liked it that way.
He stopped after a few minutes to look back. He could still see the buses below and the few people behind even him, turning he saw a long line up ahead of him. A deep breath and he was off.
The air was cool and sweet, a smell of something he had noticed hiking the Adirondacks and high in the Smokies. He never knew what it was, only that it grew up high and up north. There were only a few stunted trees farther up. He was quickly getting above what timberline there was. He passed a heavyset man, who was obviously strong, but lacked stamina. He did not look him in the face. Every man for himself.
He started to sweat. He slowed and opened the front of his jacket. You sweat, you freeze, just keep a comfortable pace, he thought. He could see the warriors still surging ahead. You go boys. He laughed inwardly. Just make sure I don’t step on you later.
* * * *
Fitz was back at the bus looking at the display. “How are they doing?” asked one of the TAC officers.
“Not bad,” Fitz replied.
“How’s the fellow you have so much confidence in?”
“He’s in the last third of the pack but gaining. His pace rarely varies. A bit slow, but if he keeps this up, he could get there some time before dark.”
“That’s only because the days are long right now. Any sign of bears yet?”
* * * *
Breathe through your nose. Keep your mouth moist. Don’t sweat. He saw a man over to his left just standing there.
“Hey, don’t look over here. My wife is peeing.”
He looked forward and continued. Yeah, like anybody cares. He left two more behind and stepped around another, who was bent over and breathing hard.
One hour into the march, he decided to take a five-minute break and have a sip of water by a stream. There was a good stretch behind him before the next bunch of people. He had lost track of the ones in the lead. It did not matter. The sun was slowly rising. He could no longer see the buses. Stiffly, he got back to his feet and was off at his leisurely pace.
His mind began to wander to all his hikes he had made years before. At least this time he was not carrying forty or fifty pounds on his back. He should have thought of this before. He adjusted his belt. He used to get depressed for two or three days after he went back to what passed for civilization. He never really cared for it much.
It was so quiet and beautiful, almost beyond his powers of description. He heard a loud whoosh and turned to see a flare. You’re joking, he thought, already?
Whatever, he turned and put it out of his mind; he had to stay focused. Soon he came upon a recruit in the fetal position. “You okay pal?”
No response. He bent over and shook the figure. His eyes opened, and he swore in French.
“Sorry pal, I don’t speak French.”
“What do you want?”
“I’m just checking to see if you are okay.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Where you from?”
“Canada.”
“Oh, French Canadian.”
“Yeah, what do you care?”
“I don’t guess I do. Why are you lying here?”
“I’m tired and covered with mosquito bites. My ankle hurts.”
“Take your boot off. Let me look at it.”
“Go to hell.”
“In time.”
* * * *
“What’s happening?” the head TAC officer asked Fitz.
“He’s stopped next to the Canadian, who gave up about thirty minutes ago.”
“How much time has your man wasted?”
“Three minutes.” They both stared at the monitor.
* * * *
“I thought Canadians were tougher than that, but you are French.”
“Screw you.”
“No wonder the French women always liked me so much. They like to have a man for a change.”
“I’m going to kick your stupid, American ass.”
He moved up hill and out of range. “You’ll have to catch it first.”
“You son of a…” With that, he started at Denver, who skipped backward.
“You lazy pansy. You can’t catch a cold much less me. What you so upset about, your daddy an American?”
“I’ll kill you!”
He turned and started uphill at just enough speed to not get caught. Soon Denver lost him. Maybe he’ll keep coming. I did all I could do; he smiled to himself.
* * * *
Fitz and the other TAC exchanged glances. Now both were on the move again.
* * * *
Topping a small rise, he saw one of the guys who had started off in such a rush. He was covered with sweat and breathing hard. He stopped about eight feet away.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just catching my breath.”
“Okay, take it easy.” Denver started on up the rise. He was going along now quite effortlessly. Here lately, the pounds had been falling off. One positive about prison life is, one is not overfed. He moved easily up the mountain. He even looked around and took in the ever-changing view.
Ahead was a thicket. He stopped. It smelled sweet. He approached slowly. It looked like berries. He could eat some, or could he? Many were poisonous. It would be interesting if these people had deliberately picked a place where we would stumble onto poison berries.
A huge grizzly came around one group of berry bushes. Uh oh, bears and berries, he should have known. He decided to give the place a wide berth and pass well to the left. Stay away from anything that blocks your vision, and try to stay crosswind of the bears, he cautioned himself.
Once above the berry stand, he saw two other bears. One was fairly large and the other smaller. Probably a sow with an older cub. He shifted to the left a bit further to make it harder for them to get his scent.
He approached a couple, who, when they saw him, got up and tried to run farther up the hill, but they soon tired. The man even abandoned his female associate, but that eventually failed to keep him ahead of Denver.
The top! I think I’ve made it. He was elated only to be seriously brought down to see that it was only a false summit. “That’s depressing,” he said breathing hard. Take it easy he reminded himself.
It was a good time to look back down the hill. In the distance, he could see the berry patch and farther down he thought he saw another person. Above, he saw no one.
Probably some of the younger and stronger participants had already made it. He had failed to count the number that took off ahead of him in the beginning. It was not important.
He had to find some more water. He had only a little left, and it was getting harder to breathe through his nose in order to keep his mouth from drying out and his throat from getting raw. Occasionally, he even felt light headed. Now he was resting every half hour. Was this thing steepening or was he imagining it?
* * * *
“How’s he doing?”
Fitz replied, “Okay, slowing now, but still moving.”
“Well, that’s what matters, as long as they keep moving.”
“This group is doing a little better than the last, only four flares so far. There is one guy who has not moved in over two hours. Do you think we should go and look in on him? It could be another heart attack.”
“Maybe, I’ll have them check in on him. We lost another one that way last time. You are right about one thing. We do seem to be getting better recruit
s. At least, that’s the idea I get. Wonder why?”
“My guess is as the economy gets worse over a larger area, the westernized countries have better qualified homeless.”
“Well, that’s one way to look at it.”
* * * *
This time, as he struggled back to his feet, he tripped and skinned a knee. “Great.” He pulled his pant leg up to reveal the bleeding.
“Don’t get stupid out here,” he said aloud. The smallest hurt could spell disaster in the bush. He knew that. Flex it a couple of times, and let it stop bleeding on its own. Maybe that’ll clean it out.
“Come on, get to your feet,” he told himself. The self-talk seemed to help. Soon he was moving again, ever upward. Now no one passed him and he passed no one. In fact, he was starting to wonder if this was not just some big joke, and he had not figured it out. It is hard to keep your head into it. His way of coping was to let his conscious mind slip off somewhere else. He tripped and landed hard.
He swore and rolled over on his back. He could feel the blood running out his nose. With his left hand, he reached up to stop it. It was so easy to lie there, just lie there and doze off.
Alarm bells sounded in his head, and his eyes flew open. He was sweating. The sun was getting low, and he was sweating. When that sun went down, it would get cold. He remembered a book he had read by an alpine mountaineer, “if you sweat, you freeze.”
Got to get up, he thought. He sat up easily. Now he knew the mountain was getting steeper. He could see no one below him and he no longer cared. The only thing that mattered was to keep moving. That, and do not sweat. He moistened his lips with a bit of his remaining water and ate his last apple half.
Slowly, he turned over and got to his knees then carefully to his feet. One step at a time, rest for only a moment and take another. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.
He glanced at the sun. Hard to estimate how much time he had until it got dark, maybe two hours, no more. Where was the top? Perhaps this is climber’s hell, and there is no top.
After an unknown amount of time, he found a tiny seep of water from over a rock. It just slowly leaked from the ground. Tracks, someone had beaten him there and so had something else. There were boot tracks and animal tracks. He put his water bottle under it.
There were bear tracks too. He looked around, no sign of bear. He could not help but wonder if any of the others had had an encounter. That would not be good.
He managed to get almost half a bottle. It was time to move on. He had been here too long and was starting to get stiff. The sun would be setting soon and he had to keep moving. He tried to remember.
Are grizzly bears daytime animals or nocturnal? He could not remember. Just keep moving. Move forward, let your foot catch you, rest, shift your weight, and repeat. It was a simple formula, his rendition of the rest step. He was worn out, but had to keep moving, no matter what.
The sun sank below the horizon, and a cool wind began to blow. This was going to hurt. I hate being cold, he thought. It can’t be helped. Just keep moving.
The sun was down, but was it his blurred imagination? It did not seem to be getting dark, at least not quickly. There is something up there. He went toward it.
Soon he saw it was the body of a man. He was lying face down. Maybe he fell asleep.
“Hey you.”
No response.
He moved closer and kicked the man’s boot.
“Hey, wake up.” His voice was dry and raspy. The fallen man did not move. He reached down and shook him.
He straightened back up startled. The body was stiff, rigor mortis. He reached down and took the fallen man’s flare—holding it high he fired it and tossed the casing to the ground. It was the only thing he could do.
He moved on and tried to forget what he had seen. What kind of people were these to devise a test that can kill you?! Maybe he would just take their money and run when he got to the top, but he would get to the top. They were not going to break him, and he would tell them so when he got there.
* * * *
“Was it your man?”
“No, he’s still moving. I think he found Jones R - 21. He had been stopped for about three hours.”
“We got another flare,” a voice called out.
“Send me the coordinates.”
Fitz eyed the little lines that quickly enclosed the place where Jones had been for so long. “He must have fired the flair and then moved on.”
“Do you think he will keep climbing or try to sit it out for the night?” asked the senior TAC officer.
“Don’t know. They would all be better off if they kept moving. Though, each time we have a few who sleep till the sun comes up in a few hours, then finish the climb.”
“If they can keep warm, they will make it.”
“Yes, the couples do better that way. I guess they keep each other warm and maybe boost their morale,” said Fitz.
“Maybe so. He’s moving awfully slow.”
Fitz made no attempt to hide his concern. He had great faith in Denver Smith and really wanted him to succeed. “If he can just keep his head working, he can think his way through this problem.
“He’s smart enough to know it’s as much of a head game as a physical one. You know we’ve had quite a few great physical specimens who lacked the mental toughness to make it. Heck, isn’t that what we are really testing here?”
“Yeah, I agree with you, but you know the arguments. We could take weaker men and mold them the way we want them,” added the senior TAC officer.
“Perhaps, but I still think if we take the best we can find and give them the right technology, they will be able to beat the Reptilians.”
“They better, everything depends on it.”
“We’ll pick the body up after Smith has a chance to get farther up the mountain. We don’t want him to see us.”
* * * *
Denver only looked at the ground ahead of him now. He was beyond exhaustion but kept moving. His mind floated but nowhere in particular. Step, rest, weight shift, step, rest, and repeat; just keep moving.
Suddenly, the ground was not where it was supposed to be. He fell, but he tumbled forward downhill. That should not happen. He had not turned around had he?
He came to a stop with his head pointing uncomfortably downhill. “What tha’?” He managed to push himself over. The sky was still not completely dark, but he could see the first stars.
Slowly he crawled around to where his feet were lower than his head and using his elbow for advantage, sat up. Below him, there were lights. Why hadn’t he seen them before?
Someone stepped out of a bus and looked in his direction. “Well, are you going to sit there all day or drag your buttocks down here?” teased Fitz with a laugh.
“Fitz?”
Slowly it dawned on him. He had made it. The buses and a tent were in the crater at the top of the extinct volcano. He had made it! Struggling to his feet, he stumbled down to where Fitz waited.
“You look like hell,” observed Fitz.
“You’re no raven haired beauty yourself,” he rasped.
Fitz chuckled. “Come on,” and motioned toward the tent. “I’ll get you some coffee. We’ve got soup and sweet cakes.” He held the fly open as Denver stumbled in.
As he passed Fitz, he said, “When does the test start?”
Fitz laughed and went to get the coffee. “Why don’t you wash up?” and pointed to a counter with basins.
Thankfully, there were no mirrors. He turned on the water and brought a handful of the warm water over his face. It came down bloody. His face was caked in blood. He found the soap and began to clean himself up.
As he turned around, he noticed several others over in the corner. They were all looking at him. Man, do I look that bad?
There were six of them sitting togeth
er, four men and two women. How the devil did they get here first? They must have been some sort of mountain trail runners, or something, probably those guys who shot off so quickly up the mountain this morning.
Heck with them! I made it; that’s what counts. He found Fitz, who was setting down the coffee and sweet cake. He flopped down in a chair.
“You look better,” said Fitz lightheartedly.
He grinned impishly. “You don’t. Thanks for the coffee.”
“Get all you want. There’s chicken soup too. Glad you made it. Find a sleeping bag and curl up somewhere. There are people still out on the mountain. We’ll be up all night.”
“There’s a dead guy down there.”
“We know. We saw your flare. He’s been picked up already.” With that, he turned and left. “My confidence in Smith has paid off,” Fitz smiled to himself. “We need guys with brains, as well as excellent physical attributes.”
Denver quickly finished the coffee and cake. The cake was a flat, rectangular thing less than an inch thick with what might have been pineapple on top. It was sweet and just about the best thing he could remember ever having.
He got to his feet, acquired more cake and coffee, and decided to try the soup. Now that was soup! And it was salty too. He closed his eyes and savored it. Soon he was filling another bowl.
He caught the eye of one of the people at the other table who said something that was not in English. The group laughed.
Guess it was funny. Go to hell. He returned to his seat.
Another spoke up in accented English, “What were you saying about a body?”
“I found someone part way up the mountain.”
“You took the time to fire his flare?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“It seemed the thing to do.”
“We saw him but just kept on going.”
Denver did not respond. The conversation was over, and he wanted nothing to do with people like that.
He finished the food and felt much better. He was stiff, but he put away his dishes and went off in search of the head. Then, he would find that pile of sleeping bags; with any luck, he would not see this group of people again.
Hell Fighters from Earth Page 6