by Jack Kilborn
“There’s the base,” Mal said, pointing at a tiny cabin perched on a shelf of the mountainside. “Hey! We’re down here!”
He waved his arms, trying to get a response.
No response came.
Mal walked to the mountainside, where the rock met the soil. He placed a foot on the stone, tried for a handhold, and got up about eight inches before slipping back down.
It was impossible to mountain climb in the leather dress shoes he wore. And it was doubly impossible to climb with only one hand.
Mal came back over to her, his expression grim. She knew what he was thinking.
“I know,” Deb said. “But I can’t.”
“You’re superwoman, remember? You’ve even got your mountain climbing legs.”
Mal patted the suitcase. Deb rubbed her face with her hands.
“You don’t understand, Mal.”
“Deb, it’s okay to be scared. But you can do this. I’ve seen how you can handle yourself.”
“Mal…”
“The other time, it was just a fluke. A freak accident. You can make it this time. You can—”
“It wasn’t an accident!” Deb said, harsher than she meant to. “It was my fault!”
Mal waited. Deb took a big breath, and sighed.
Time to tell the truth.
“I was cocky,” she began. “I knew I was a good climber. I knew I could climb this mountain with my eyes closed. So I thought I’d challenge myself. Remember I told you I was hammering in my first pinion when I started to slide?”
Mal nodded.
“Look up there.” She pointed at the mountain. “See that angled shelf? That’s where I fell from. I should have used two or three pinions just to get up to that point. But I was cocky.”
“So when you tried to hammer in your first pinion the rock gave way…”
“Don’t you get it, Mal? I didn’t use any pinions. No ropes. No harnesses. No helmet. I tried to free climb. And I did it without a partner, and without telling anyone where I was. I came here alone, with no gear. It was my own goddamn fault I fell. Not an accident. The rock didn’t give way. I just slipped. It was pure stupidity. I was a fucking fool.”
She waited for Mal’s reaction. His judgement. His disapproval.
He’s got to think I’m as big of an idiot as I think I am.
But Mal’s expression didn’t change. And he didn’t say anything. He simply kneeled down and opened up her suitcase.
Deb shook her head. “I can’t do it, Mal.”
He took out her mountain climbing legs. The ones she’d never used, except to bash Eleanor’s freaks in the face.
“Mal, I fell off with two good legs. I can’t climb that as a cripple.”
“You’re the strongest person I ever met, Deb.”
“I’m an idiot who ruined my life.”
“You’re an amazing woman. And you’re going to climb that mountain, get that radio, and save the day.”
He handed her one of the legs. She threw it back at him.
“Don’t you see I can’t do this!”
“I’m a writer,” Mal said. “You’re an athlete. If I can learn to type one-handed, you can climb this mountain with no legs.”
“And what if I fall off again?”
“Then I’ll catch you.” Mal winked. “This time you didn’t come alone.”
Deb didn’t know whether to cry, scream, or kiss him. She settled for saying, “Gimme the damn legs.”
When she pulled off the Cheetahs they were filled with sweat. Her skin was mottled and blistered and bleeding in some places. But, oddly enough, she didn’t care that Mal saw. After laying her soul bare, him seeing her stumps wasn’t that big a deal.
Besides, he wasn’t looking at her legs. He was looking at her chest again.
“If I make it, you owe me dinner,” she said.
“When you make it, I’ll take you to Rome. I’ll even spring for two rooms so you won’t have to share one with me.”
Deb looked into his eyes, saw trust and acceptance and obvious affection, and decided that he wouldn’t need a separate room.
“Deal,” she said.
Then she put on the mountain climbing legs. Unlike the Cheetah’s, which were curved, these were L shaped, more like a regular leg and foot. But at the toe were rubber balls with tiny metal spikes sticking out of them. Supposedly for good grip and traction. She didn’t know for sure, because the only time she’d ever worn them was during her fitting.
Deb pressed the suction button, sucking out the air from the stump cups so they adhered to her skin. It hurt, but better dealing with pain than dealing with one slipping off.
Mal held out his hand and helped her up. When she found her balance he continued to hold her.
“You can do it,” he said.
She nodded, let out a slow breath, and stared at the mountain.
It seemed to have gotten even bigger.
Deb gently disengaged from Mal, then hobbled over to the mountainside. The legs were crap to walk in, but one she got her first toehold they performed as advertised.
She hugged the mountain closely, embracing it, becoming a part of it. She didn’t look down. Didn’t look up. She looked in the moment, for the next hand grip, the next foot position, the next stable rest point. After a dozen feet up, she found the seam she’d used to get to the shelf, and climbed it just as well as she did when she had legs.
It was all so automatic, all so comfortable, that Deb almost forgot her fear.
Then she reached the angled face. The one she slid off of. And Deb froze.
I remember sliding down this. I remember the terror. I remember the certainty I’d die. I remember hating myself for making such a stupid mistake.
But most of all, I remember the pain when I fell.
“You can do it!” Mal called from below.
Can I? Can I really?
Maybe I can.
Gritting her teeth, Deb hoisted herself onto the sheer face. The angle didn’t seem very steep. That’s why she’d been so cocksure before.
Deb reached up, found a tiny protruding nub, and latched her fingers onto it.
One inch at a time, she pulled herself up that shelf. She always made sure at least two limbs had good grips. It was slow going, but effective. She was getting close to reaching a bunch of bushes jutting from the rockface. Once there, she could rest for a minute. Then it would be a pretty easy climb up to the ranger station.
Two feet away now.
Eighteen inches.
A foot.
Deb reached up, ready to grasp a crooked branch, to test to see if it would hold her weight.
The crooked branch moved.
Deb’s jaw dropped.
That’s not a branch.
I know what that is.
It’s a tail.
A crooked tail.
The tail swished, and then moved away. It was replaced by a triangular head and two golden eyes.
The cougar.
The cougar with the zigzag tail.
The same one that almost killed me when I fell.
She gasped.
Jesus Christ. It’s come back to finish the job.
And then Deb lost her grip and began to slide down the face of the mountain.
“Hey! Boy! Y’all think you a squirrel, hidin’ up in that tree?”
Felix opened his eyes to a world of pain.
His fingers. His head. His ribs. His hips. His back. Just about every square inch of him hurt. Breathing hurt. Moving hurt. Even thinking hurt.
Plus, he was in a tree.
He looked around, saw he was wedged in the V of a big oak. It was bright outside, the morning sun blinding, and Felix’s memories of last night were hazy. But he did recall the cougar, tugging him by his shirt collar, pulling until Felix couldn’t breathe anymore.
I must have passed out, and he stashed me in this tree.
Felix knew that other big cats often dragged their prey into trees to keep it from other predators and sc
avengers. Apparently mountain lions did too.
“I’m talkin’ to ya, boy!”
The tree shook. Felix chanced a look down. Though he’d only seen him before in silhouette, he recognized Ulysses, the tow truck driver. The large man was prettier in the dark. His large, squarish head had a nose that was crooked by about forty-five degrees, making it look like it wasn’t completely screwed on. His eyes were also uneven, one higher than the other. He resembled a Picasso.
Ulysses beat the tree trunk with his crowbar once more.
“I been looking all god dang night for y’all. Getcher ass down here, boy.”
Felix didn’t think that was a good idea. In fact, he was content to stay up here for the rest of his life. Felix was at least ten feet high, and Ulysses was far too big to climb up after him.
“‘Kay. You asked for it.”
The big man waddled off. Felix wondered what he was going to do.
Light the tree on fire? Chop it down?
The giant returned with a long length of chain. He wrapped it around the tree trunk and secured it with a heavy padlock.
“Tim-ber, asshole.”
Then Felix watched him walk over to his truck.
Oh, no.
Felix stared down at the ground. A painful drop if he was completely healthy. In his current condition, the fall would be intolerable.
But it beats being dragged behind a tow truck.
Ulysses gunned his engine. Felix realized that the longer he waited, the less courage he would have, so he pressed his mangled hands against the branch, whimpered at the pain in his ribs as he unwedged himself, and then plummeted to earth.
Hitting the ground was like falling into hell. The pain reached such dizzying heights that it was all he could think about, the only sensation he felt.
Then there was a tremendous cracking sound, like the world was breaking in half, and Felix opened his bleary eyes and saw the tree splitting at the base, dropping down on top of him.
His last remnants of survival instinct kicked in, and Felix rolled away before he was crushed, momentum taking him down into a ditch filled with high grass as the tree was tugged past.
Made it. They haven’t killed me yet.
He was dimly aware of the fallen tree slowing down and coming to a stop, and a truck door slamming shut. Ulysses was coming to inspect his work.
Gotta get up. Gotta get away.
Miraculously, Felix made it to his feet. He kept low, stumbling past Ulysses as the large man assessed the damage he’d done.
“Where in the heck are ya, boy?”
You want to know where I am? I’m getting into your truck, asshole.
The door handle gave Felix some trouble. The gearshift was even harder. But he was so used to being in pain at this point that a little more didn’t matter.
He hit the accelerator and slammed the tow truck into reverse, backing over Ulysses before the giant even had a chance to turn around. Felix’s head bounced against the top of the cab as the rear tire rolled over the bastard’s body. Not willing to take any chances, Felix stomped on the clutch, shifted into first gear, and ran Ulysses over again, dragging him a dozen yards. Then he tugged on the emergency brake and got out to see the carnage.
And carnage there was. All that was left of Ulysses was a mashed leg and an impressive length of intestines, stretching out at least twenty feet.
Felix then turned his attention to the Rushmore Inn, crouching like some prehistoric monster in the forest, waiting to pounce. He half-walked/half-stumbled to the front entrance, trying to get the knob to work. The door wouldn’t budge.
But that didn’t deter Felix. He knew how to get inside.
And once inside, he was going to kill every son of a bitch he saw.
“Kelly!”
Letti’s throat was so raw from yelling that she was perilously close to losing her voice. But beyond that initial scream, she hadn’t heard anything else from her daughter.
Terrible thoughts fuelled Letti forward.
Was Kelly hurt? Dying? Dead?
Had they caught her?
What if I don’t get there in time?
What if I don’t find her at all?
“Kelly!”
Letti limped up a gradual incline. Her foot hadn’t stopped bleeding since she’d stepped on that finger bone, and the ill-fitting dead man’s shoes had scraped her heels raw. She tried to keep an eye on the ground, looking for some sort of footprints or trail, but the woods all looked the same to her. Maybe Kelly had gone this way. Maybe she was in an entirely different direction.
“Kelly!”
“Dang, yer a loud one.”
Letti jerked her head around.
Millard.
He wasn’t wearing the football helmet or padded suit anymore. Now he was dressed pure redneck, in bibs and a plaid flannel shirt. His eyes were fire engine red, and his long gray hair blew crazily around his twisted face.
“Someone wants to say howdy,” Millard said. He raised up a blood-soaked pillow case, and dumped the contents on the ground.
Oh… Jesus… no!
Florence’s head bounced in the dirt.
“Mom…” Letti whispered.
Millard raised a cattle prod. “And that ain’t nuthin’ compared to what I gonna—”
Letti pivoted her hips, whipped her leg around, and kicked the tall man in the chin. Millard staggered back, and Letti followed up with a punt between his legs that must have knocked his balls up into his skull.
She didn’t stop there. The years of martial arts training her mother had subjected her to were unleashed in an explosion of raw fury. She broke the giant’s nose. His cheek bone. His nose again. Ruptured an ear drum. Knocked out two teeth. Knocked out three more teeth. Broke his nose again. Hit his eye so hard it instantly swelled shut.
But the sick son of a bitch didn’t go down.
In fact, he seemed to be enjoying it.
I’m going to beat this man to death. I’m going to keep hitting him until my hands and feet are broken. I’m going to—
Millard trapped her leg between his arm and his side on her last kick, and then pulled Letti onto her back.
She squirmed. She twisted. But this man was too big, too strong. And he was still holding the cattle prod.
He zapped her in the belly, making Letti curl up into a fetal position.
“Ain’t you a wildcat?” Millard said. He smiled, blood leaking through the gaps in his missing teeth. “Old Millard’s good at tamin’ wildcats.”
He raised the cattle prod like a club, aiming for Letti’s head. She got her arm up in time.
At first she thought the snap! she heard was the prod breaking in half.
Then the pain hit, and she realized it wasn’t the prod at all.
Letti clutched her broken arm to her chest, feeling both sick and unable to breathe.
“All this violence done got me excited,” Millard said.
He spit out some blood, tossed the cattle prod aside, and then began unbuttoning his overalls.
The second time Cam stabbed her with the scalpel, Kelly turned and ran. The terrain was rough and rocky, and the woods were thick. She could hear Cam only a few steps behind her, following the path she made through the underbrush, making a sound that was part giggling, part crying.
The woods are too thick. The ground is too uneven. I can’t get away from him.
She misstepped, tripping over a tree root, and Cam swooped on top of her, poking her a third time, in the thigh. Then he let her up, let her keep running.
Kelly realized he wasn’t trying to kill her. Not right away. He was just going to keep jabbing her with that scalpel.
“The autopsy report stated he was stabbed more than a hundred and thirty times. None of them were fatal. My best friend died of blood loss.”
This scared Kelly even more, made her even more frantic. She tried to watch her footing so she didn’t trip again, but she didn’t move fast enough and Cam came up behind her, poking her in the back.
It hurt. Every stab hurt worse than a bee sting.