by Dirk Patton
With another deep breath I began walking again, stepping over the next row and onto a clear paw print. I was moving slow, wiping blood from the gash on my head out of my eye, and I’m not sure if I was walking a straight line or not. But I was able to follow the tracks of the group I was pursuing.
Pressing on for what felt like hours, I glanced down to check on their trail and came to a stop. Nothing but undisturbed dirt and a row of low, dark green plants in front of me. I looked to either side, but failed to find the tracks. What the hell? How long had I been walking in a daze?
Reversing course, I began following my own tracks, alarmed to see the weaving path I had taken. Pausing, I wiped sweat off my face and more blood out of my eye, then took a few more sips of water as I looked around. My vision was blurry, my head pounding like a jackhammer, but I did feel more stable.
With a start I realized I hadn’t scanned for threats in I didn’t know how long. Lifting my rifle I looked through the night vision scope and began to turn. I had only completed a quarter of the circle when I stumbled sideways as the world around me started whirling in the opposite direction. Lowering my rifle, I closed my eyes and waited as a wave of heat rolled across my face and a fresh bout of nausea struck.
When the flushing passed, I swallowed twice, trying to keep myself from throwing up again. Stomach settling, I breathed deeply, slowly feeling better. Ready to try looking at the world again, I opened my eyes and was startled to see an Indian standing a few feet in front of me.
He was taller than me, broad across the chest and shoulders and narrow in the hips. He wore jeans and boots and a leather vest that exposed powerful, dark bronze arms. His hair was black as midnight and pulled into a long ponytail. He had deep-set eyes and a face that was all planes and angles. His skin was difficult to differentiate in the dark from the leather he wore.
He stared back, an assault rifle held loosely in his hands. Was I that out of it that he had managed to walk right up without me even knowing he was there? I’ve worked with Indians in the military and not for a second did I buy into any of the mystical warrior bullshit. A man is quiet in the field because he has learned how to be quiet, not because of any magical powers granted by the earth mother.
“What do you want here?” He finally spoke in flat, American tones. No Hollywood stereotype accent here. Just a voice that sounded like any other male born and raised in the United States.
“Just passing through,” I said, assessing him.
He may have been holding his rifle loosely, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to handle it. It was being held almost exactly the same way I hold mine. The man had had some training.
His face remained unreadable and he didn’t move a muscle. “Army?” He finally broke his silence.
I nodded, instantly regretting the movement that caused my dizziness to flare up. He tilted his head as he watched me sway slightly.
“You’re hurt,” he said. “And on Osage land. You have no right to be here and no authority. Or is the white man going to take our homes and move us again?”
“Fuck you, Tonto.” I said. “Whatever was done happened long before you or I were born, and there’s not enough people left alive in the world to give a shit.”
That pissed him off, his eyes narrowing as he made a small adjustment to his grip on the rifle. My right hand was hovering a few inches from my pistol and I was confident I could draw it and put a round through his forehead before he could raise and fire his rifle. Well, maybe I could if I was able to figure out which one of him I was seeing was the real one. Dizziness and double vision without tequila is a real bitch.
“Fuck you!” He snapped back. “You come onto my land and insult me? You need to go back the way you came before I stop being friendly.”
“Friendly?” I snorted. “That was being friendly? Well, hell. Where are my manners? Thank you for being so welcoming to travelers.”
The tension ratcheted up a few notches when I finished speaking. Even in the darkness I could see his eyes flash in anger, the muscles in his arms twitching as he squeezed the rifle. Things were about to go south in a hurry.
“Look, I’m sorry.” I said, genuinely apologizing for having been a dick. “It’s been a bad day and I was tracking a group that took my friends and got a little lost. I was in a plane crash a few hours ago and took a good blow to the head. I just want to get back on their trail.”
He stared at me for a long time. Long enough that the silence was growing uncomfortable, but I wasn’t going to break it. I’ve played the game before and knew the rules. The next one to speak would be compromising some of his position.
“The only group to come through in the past two days was a bunch of infected women.” He finally said.
“When? Going east or west?” I asked.
“West, around midnight yesterday, then back east an hour after sunrise this morning.” He answered after a very long pause. “They were carrying two on their way east.”
“Did you see a German Shepherd?” I asked, feeling the stirrings of hope.
What I didn’t voice was a question of why he hadn’t tried to stop them. The Osage were fierce warriors, one of the most feared Indian nations at one time, and he didn’t look that far removed from his heritage. Then the answer hit me. He was alone out here and was either out of ammo or was so low that he couldn’t engage the group.
He looked at me, maybe finally believing my story. “Yes, I did. But he wasn’t really with them. More like he was trailing them, then he’d race ahead for a bit before circling back to trail them again. Kind of strange.”
“That’s them,” I said. “The ones being carried and the dog belong with me. We got separated after the crash.”
“You don’t want to be messing with them,” he said.
“Yes, I do. And I am. They have my friends, and my wife.”
6
He stood looking at me, either trying to figure out if I was seriously deranged or tilting at windmills. The inscrutable act was wearing thin and the longer I stood here wasting time with him, the farther away the group moved.
“Look,” I said in a calm voice. “I’m not turning around. I’m going after them. If that means crossing your land and we’ve got a problem because of that, well… we’d better settle it now because you’re wasting my time.”
I moved my right hand and placed it on the butt of my pistol. Yes, I was still dizzy, but my vision was improving and instead of seeing two of him I was only seeing one and a half. Kind of like he had an identical twin that was standing partially in front of him. If I had to shoot, I’d go for center mass, but I didn’t think I’d have to shoot. Hoped I didn’t have to shoot.
“That way,” he finally said, carefully taking a hand off his rifle and pointing in a direction slightly north of due east.
I nodded, very gently, and began to move around him. I wasn’t thrilled with the thought of turning my back on his rifle and sidestepped a few yards down the row I was standing in. Still angled so I could see him, I started striding across the rows, stopping after the third one. I turned back to see him watching me, rifle now hanging down his side on a sling.
“Here,” I said, pulling two loaded magazines out of my vest. “You’re probably going to need these.”
I held the mags up and the surprise on his face was evident. I’d finally gotten something out of him other than a blank stare.
“Take them,” I said, extending my arm and shaking them in the air. “I know you’re either out or very low on ammo.”
He had recovered from his surprise and pasted the blank look on his face again. With a sigh of frustration I dropped them on the ground.
“Suit yourself. I’m out of here.” I said, turning my back on him and resuming my direction of travel.
I can say that for the first couple of hundred yards there was a spot in the middle of my back that itched and twitched, waiting for a bullet. But the farther I walked, the more confident I was that I hadn’t misread the man. If he’d
really wanted to kill me he could have done so when he first walked up while I was standing there with my eyes closed. He hadn’t then, and other than a few insults I hadn’t given him a reason to do so now.
Not bothering to look back and see if he picked up the magazines, I pushed on. Several hundred yards later I found the group’s trail. I had wandered way off course in my dazed state. The good news was I felt better. My vision had mostly returned to normal. I was no longer seeing double or partial-double. Now there was just some fuzziness around things, but at least there was only one object when I looked at something.
My head still pounded, but I was stronger and no longer sick to my stomach. Sipping more water, I adjusted the straps on my pack and broke into a jog. I can’t say I was moving appreciably faster than I was when just walking, but I needed every fraction of a mile per hour I could get. With no idea how fast the infected that had my friends were moving, all I could do was push as hard as possible to close the distance between us.
After half an hour of jogging I reached the edge of the agricultural area. The soft soil of the field ended at a narrow, hard-packed dirt road. I slowed when I reached the road, noting the scuffing of the surface made by passing feet. Moving to the far side there was a slope down to grass-covered prairie and the path to follow was clear. All of the feet had trampled the vegetation down, changing its color and texture.
With relatively smooth ground to traverse I was able to push my speed up to a run. Not having to step over every row as I jogged eliminated the worst of the jarring impact from every step. The new terrain was a physical relief and for the first time I began to feel that I was actually making progress.
The trail followed the geography, sticking to the easier route. It wound through low areas, seemingly avoiding climbing small rises. It took a while for the significance of this to dawn on me. Humans, at least modern humans who grew up in towns and cities and did all their walking on smooth concrete and asphalt will normally follow a straight path when walking through nature.
Maybe it’s because we’ve been conditioned since birth to get from point A to point B in as straight a line as possible. Maybe not. I just know it’s the way people behave. Animals, on the other hand, will almost always follow the terrain. The path of least resistance. Use as little energy as possible because they can’t count on a grocery store or fast food restaurant being just around every corner.
The infected were moving like animals. Like humans travelled throughout history until we began building and living in cities. I didn’t know how this helped me, but it did give me some insight into the infected’s minds. A lifetime of conditioning to move in straight lines had been stripped away by the effects of the virus, the infected operating on a more instinctual level.
These thoughts and half a dozen others went through my head as I ran. Running is boring, and my mind found things to occupy itself while only devoting enough attention to what I was doing to keep me from stepping off a cliff or smashing into a tree. So I let it wander. And not surprisingly, all I could think about was Katie and Rachel. Rachel and Katie.
I was thinking about how this would all shake out when I got them back. Katie was the love of my life, there was no question of that, but Rachel had a piece of my hard, black heart and the thought of hurting her broke that little piece. I would be dead half a dozen times over if not for Rachel, and I owed her more than I could ever repay for helping me find and rescue Katie.
Tabling the internal discussion, I slowed then came to a stop when I reached a wide river. I cast around, checking the tracks that transitioned from the prairie grass to the dirt banks, but their direction of travel didn’t deviate. Straight into the water. A few yards downstream I found a clear set of prints where Dog also went into the river.
This was really odd. I looked across the water, estimating it to be nearly a hundred yards to the far bank. I couldn’t tell how deep it was, the water moving so slowly that if I didn’t pay close attention I couldn’t even detect a current. I had not seen infected willingly enter any body of water unless they were in hot pursuit of prey. They couldn’t swim, or at least I’d yet to see one that was capable.
The river had to be shallow. If they weren’t crossing it there was no reason for them to wade out into it. Starting to step into the water, I froze when my little early warning system sent a wave of prickles up my back. Frozen in place, I cut my eyes back and forth in search of any threat while I calmed my breathing so I could hear anyone or anything approaching.
Seeing and hearing nothing after a few moments, I slowly turned my head first to the right, then left. My rifle was up to my shoulder by now and I gently clicked it from semi to burst mode. Still detecting nothing, I suddenly dashed to my left to take cover behind a large willow tree. The tree’s roots were exposed due to the erosion of the river, thick and rough where they were above the surface.
Standing in water to my knees, I looked through the night vision scope. Thoroughly scanning my back-trail I didn’t see anything, so I began checking each side. What the hell had got my spidey-sense all excited? OK, I know it’s not really super powers. I heard, smelled, saw or felt something that was so subtle my conscious mind wasn’t aware of it, but my subconscious picked up on it and sounded an alarm.
Staying still, I kept watching. Several minutes later I detected movement as a figure broke cover from behind a stunted tree and dashed to conceal itself behind a low mound of dirt. I didn’t recognize the features through the scope, but his build and long ponytail told me who it was. Maybe he’d had second thoughts about letting me cross his land. The fucking Indian was following me.
7
Climbing out of the river, I crawled up the low bank. Working my way over the top, I silently moved at an angle to the mound the Indian was behind. Pausing, I checked the area and spotted a clump of bushes that I was willing to bet was his next destination. They provided the best concealment and were a forty-yard dash from the mound. I intended to get there first and be waiting for him.
I didn’t know what his game was. Was he stalking me with bad intentions, or was he just following along to make sure I didn’t do something disrespectful while I was on Osage land? Frustrated, I slipped into place ten yards to the side of the bushes. I was prone on the ground, mostly hidden behind a couple of rocks. In the dark I knew I was invisible to anyone that didn’t have night vision or thermal imaging.
My rifle had just settled in against my cheek, aimed at where I expected him to stop when he suddenly appeared right where I’d predicted. Damn he was quiet. I’m good in the field. I’m not bragging, just stating what I know from years of having survived because I was taught how to move stealthily. But this guy was a fucking ghost. Watching him suddenly appear in my sights was like watching something on TV with the audio muted. It happened with zero detectable noise.
“You’re not faster than a bullet,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear me.
He remained frozen in a crouch, head lifted to see over the bushes to the river. After a few long heart beats he turned to look in my direction, not moving any other part of his body. His rifle was in his right hand, on the far side of his body and he knew there wasn’t a chance in hell he could bring it around before I pulled the trigger.
“Why are you following me?” I asked.
He just stared back, not saying anything.
“I don’t have time for this shit,” I finally said in frustration. “I think it’s time to put a bullet in your head so I can go about my business without worrying about you. Now, if you don’t like that idea I’d suggest you knock off this silent routine and speak up. I’m out of patience.”
“I know where the females are going,” he said without his usual hesitation. “Where they’re headed is sacred ground. I tracked a large group of them there a few days ago.”
“So… what? You were going to sneak up behind me and kill me to protect your sacred ground?” I growled, getting really tired of this.
“No,” was all he said.
“Then what? Seriously, I’m getting pissed off and don’t have time to be jerking around with you.” I said, clicking my rifle’s fire selector from burst to semi. I didn’t need to expend three bullets if I decided to put him down.
“Relax. OK?” The sound of the rifle had gotten his attention. “I might have killed you before, but leaving me some ammo was pretty stand-up. You were right. I was out. Been fighting these bitches for a long time. I was just going to tie you up and drag your white ass back to where you came from.”
“I’m supposed to believe that bullshit?” I asked.
“Honest Injun.” He said, showing the first glimmer of a human being behind the intractable warrior façade.
I lay there looking at him through my scope, finally snorting a laugh but not relaxing. Just because he had cracked a joke at his own expense didn’t mean he wasn’t still a deadly threat.
“Well, I’m not going to let that happen. So I see two ways out of this. First is, I put a bullet through you and go on my merry way. Second, you get it through your head that all I care about is getting my wife and friends back.
“I don’t give a flying fuck about your sacred ground. If that’s where they are I’ll spill a lot of blood to satisfy whatever spirits you’re worried about. Either way, you’re not going to stop me, so make up your mind how you want this to go.”
I had been watching him closely as I spoke. Looking for the subtle tells that reveal the moment a man decides to fight or not. I saw it as I finished talking. A slight lowering of his eyes and his rifle. It was only two tiny movements, and I doubt he was even aware he had made them, but they told me all I needed to know. He wasn’t going to fight. Why didn’t matter.
“There’s a third choice,” he said after a couple of moments. “I go with you. I know this land and I know where they’re going. And I know how to fight. My father was in Vietnam and when he got back he made sure his boys knew how to fight. He always thought there would be a day the Osage would rise up again.”