Relatively Dead

by Cook, Alan

  I looked up the mountain. Jason was hidden by trees, so he couldn’t see me at the moment. I followed the snowless ground, staying on a level instead of descending. I was looking for a place to hide, but not too close to where my footprints ended. I ducked in and out of the trees, so when Jason came to the bare patch he shouldn’t be able to see me. I must have gone a hundred yards when I found some underbrush surrounded by the ubiquitous pine trees.

  I grabbed a piece of a branch lying on the ground to use as a weapon and crawled into the brush. I picked a spot where I could look out between branches toward where I had been, without, hopefully, being seen. When I stopped moving I noticed how hard my heart was pounding, more from fear, I thought, than exertion.

  In no more than five minutes I saw a movement through the trees, and then the figure of Jason emerged. He stopped where my footprints ended and did a 360, looking in all directions. What would he do now? He looked in my direction. A knife went through me, but I told myself that as long as I didn’t move he wouldn’t be able to see me.

  When he started walking in my direction, I wasn’t so sure. I gripped my stick, determined not to go easily. It was hard not to run, but it was better to remain still, to be part of the forest. The earth tones of my garments were in my favor, providing a sort of camouflage. I’d blended in with my background when Jason first came along the trail from the tram. I could do it again.

  I was afraid he could hear me breathe, but the sighing of a soft breeze easily covered that. At least, that’s what I tried to convince myself. Besides, he was still thirty yards away. He stopped and stood for a while, still looking around. Then he went back to the end of my footprints.

  After what seemed like hours but couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes, he crossed the bare patch and started down the mountain. He was soon out of sight. He was ahead of me, whether he realized it or not.

  What should I do? As soon as I was sure he wasn’t coming back, I took off my right shoe, the one I’d lost before, and peeled off my wet sock, although it stuck to my foot and didn’t come easily.

  I wrung as much water out of the sock as I could and briskly rubbed my foot to bring feeling back to it. The temperature wasn’t that cold; I wasn’t going to get frostbite or anything like that. At least while the sun was shining. I carefully put on my sock and shoe and considered my choices.

  Now that Jason was below me, I could go back up the mountain to the trail junction and then go back to the tram station. I knew immediately that was madness. I was sure I’d descended over a thousand feet from the junction, and I was too exhausted to climb that steep slope, especially without food.

  That reminded me. I was ravenously hungry. It was well past noon. I’d eaten an early breakfast and only a snack since then before I lost my pack. I scooped up some snow and melted it in my mouth to attempt to stave off the pangs.

  Once Jason was convinced he was ahead of me, he might lie in wait for me at the saddle or someplace in between. That was a danger I’d have to face. I was going to become the tracker. I’d follow his footprints. Hopefully, if he laid a trap for me I’d be able to spot it in time.

  I came out of my lair, taking my stick with me. I returned to the spot where I’d left the snow and easily found Jason’s footprints on the other side of the bare patch. I started following them, slowly, constantly scanning the ground ahead of me. Jason was nowhere in sight.

  In five minutes the footprints led me back to the trail. Jason was a good woodsman. Then the snow disappeared, altogether, except for small mounds that didn’t do me any good for tracking purposes. Or eating purposes, either, because they’d been there for a while and were dirty. I’d lost my water supply.

  However, I knew the route Jason was taking. The only question was where he’d set up his ambush. I was approaching the saddle. I could see it through the trees. I could tell where the ground bottomed out and then started up toward Tahquitz Peak. I suspected Jason would wait for me somewhere on the saddle.

  I stopped. Why would anyone walk into a death trap on purpose? If I thought my stick would protect me against him, I was a fool. I tried to remember what the saddle looked like. It was relatively flat and open. It wasn’t a good place to set up an ambush. It was much more likely Jason would wait for me on the trail that led from the saddle down to Idyllwild. It wasn’t called the Devils Slide Trail for nothing. It was twisty, and steep in places—much better for hiding.

  I approached the saddle carefully. Sure enough, visibility was good. Jason wasn’t there. I came to the trail junction. Several trails branched out from there. One was the trail to Idyllwild. Another was the trail to Tahquitz Peak. After thinking about it for thirty seconds, I took the Tahquitz trail. Now I wouldn’t have to worry about Jason ambushing me.

  I remembered this trail as an easy climb of fewer than three miles from the saddle. Tahquitz Peak was almost a thousand feet lower than the trail junction I’d just come from. I could do it without food and water. I hoped the fire watcher was on top because he or she would have a radio.

  I quickly realized that was too much to hope for. Fire season hadn’t started yet. However, the key piece of information that emboldened me was that Jason had showed me another trail that went down from the top and connected to a road near Idyllwild. Thanks to his penchant for educating people, I could bypass him altogether. Thank you, Jason.

  ***

  The fire watcher wasn’t in the tower. I was a little disappointed, but otherwise my plan was working. I sucked on some snow near the peak. It helped alleviate my thirst but not my hunger. I went down the alternate trail from the top of Tahquitz. It was easy going, although my bad ankle was starting to bother me. I limped along slowly but steadily.

  Time went by at a crawl as I thought about food and drink and Jason. The snow was gone. The first thing I would have to do when I got to Idyllwild was to report him to the police. The second thing was to get something to eat.

  Eventually, I came to the dirt road at the foot of the mountain. I felt relieved. I’d made it up and down Tahquitz without incident. True, I was getting weak from hunger and strenuous hiking, not to mention the stress of keeping out of Jason’s clutches, but help couldn’t be far away. In fact, it might be at hand. A car was parked on the road.

  As I approached the back of the car I couldn’t tell whether anybody was inside, because of the tinted glass windows and headrests on the front seats, as well as the position of the sun in my eyes. If not, however, somebody must be nearby. I approached the driver’s side, intending to look in the front window. I noticed the outside mirror was folded against the car.

  While I was pondering this, the front door suddenly swung open right in front of me, blocking my way. Before I could move, Jason dove out of the car and tackled me. I landed on my back and screamed. He scrambled up my body, brushing aside my flailing fists and ignoring my ineffective kicks that connected only with air, and sat on my stomach. I tried to scratch his eyes out, but he grabbed my arms and held them.

  We looked at each other. There was no point in screaming again. Nobody would hear. And I couldn’t move. He worked to control his breathing.

  “This time I didn’t underestimate you. When you didn’t come down the Devils Slide trail, I figured this is what you’d done. You’ve got the Boyd smarts.”

  “But I don’t go around killing people.” That didn’t get a rise out of him. “This isn’t your car.”

  “My car is at the tram parking lot, as you well know. This is my neighbor’s car. He uses his house as a weekend retreat and sometimes leaves a car here. I watch his place for him. But enough chitchat. I’m sure you want to know what’s going to happen next.”

  I was almost too tired to care. Jason was going to tell me, anyway.

  “I’m not going to kill you here, because I don’t want to do it in Idyllwild. I’m going to do it someplace far far away.”

  How could I stall? “Are you going to give me something to eat and drink?”

  “Sorry. I don�
�t have any food with me. And your pack is in a snowbank, somewhere on the mountain. However, you’ve been a worthy adversary for me. If you promise not to try anything, I’ll give you a drink from my water bottle.”

  “I promise.”

  We were right beside the car. Jason released my arms and leaned inside to reach the bottle in the holder between the front seats. He brought it out of the car and unscrewed the cap. As he lowered it to place the opening between my lips, his face was close to mine. It was a face I’d learned to hate. I jammed both of my thumbs into his eyes as hard as I could and yelled as I did. Promises given under duress aren’t valid.

  Jason jerked his head back and roared like a wounded elephant. I shoved his body over onto its side and scrambled out from under him. His hands covered his eyes and he couldn’t see anything, but he kicked out, blindly, catching me in the crotch area and slamming me against the car. I went down in a heap, but had the presence of mind to roll away from him so he couldn’t do it again.

  Jason rolled around on the ground, also, obviously in great pain, his hands still covering his eyes. I hurt like hell, too, but I had to get away from him before he recovered. I forced myself to stand, and I staggered to the open door of the car. The keys were in the ignition. I fell into the seat, started it, and drove away.

  A few yards down the road I stopped, pulled the seat up to fit my legs, and then took off again.

  CHAPTER 35

  “What I don’t understand is why Jason let go of your hands even after you’d fought him so hard.” Frances eyed me with a combination of shock and awe as she sipped her wine.

  “He underestimated me once too often.”

  It was a couple of days after Jason tried to kill me. We were at the home of Rigo’s parents, Tina and Ernie. All of them were there. I didn’t tell them about lying to Jason. I felt a little guilty about it, even though it had undoubtedly saved my life. I’d narrated all the events of my day in the mountains leading up to the final confrontation with Jason.

  Ernie was treating this like a great adventure. “Where did you drive when you left Jason?”

  “I knew I couldn’t drive very far, because when Jason slammed me against the car he hurt my back and my leg.” Tina frowned so I hastened to alleviate her fears. “They’ll be fine—just king-sized bruises.”

  I’d limped into the house with Rigo’s help, and was sitting on the softest couch.

  “I drove into Idyllwild and asked the first person I saw where the ranger station was, because that’s a government facility. I drove there and told them about Jason. They called the Riverside County Sheriff’s office in Hemet. While we were waiting for a sheriff’s deputy to drive up from Hemet, the rangers drove back to the trailhead with me. Jason was still there, still incapacitated. He may lose part of his eyesight. They took his knife and stayed with him until the deputy came and arrested him. One of them gave me a sandwich to eat—from his lunch.”

  Rigo already knew the story because he was the first person I’d called, but the others peppered me with questions. Tina wanted to know if there was enough evidence to convict Jason of murder.

  “That’s a complicated issue because he actually murdered three people. He’s being held now on attempted murder—mine—while the police review the evidence. He made sort of a confession to me, which should help in all three. First he killed Timothy Boyd in Northern Ireland. Then he killed his grandson, Jason. The email to Jason was definitely sent by him—his account has an email address using the name Ironsides. The police have found credit card and passport information that show he was in the Belfast area when Timothy was killed, so that’s circumstantial evidence.

  “He could be tried in both Northern Ireland and England at some point, but Los Angeles has first dibs on him. It may not be possible to prove he pushed Tom Kelly off the train platform. I was there and I didn’t see him do it. Neither did anyone else. Of course, he’ll retract the confession he made to me.

  “As far as the murder of his grandson, Jason, that may be the easiest to prove. He had a registered gun that shoots bullets like the one that shot Jason, but it hasn’t been found and he told me he’s gotten rid of it. Apparently nobody recognized him at the party where young Jason was killed, although the police are pursuing that avenue with the cooperation of Marcia Mathewson, young Jason’s girlfriend. She has a pretty good list of the people who were at that party.”

  Ernie asked what Jason’s motive for the murders was.

  “He killed Timothy and Jason because they were besmirching the Boyd name by running the scam. Jason explained some of his philosophy to me. What it boils down to is they violated the Golden Rule.”

  Frances said, “The Bible gets pretty bloody in places.”

  I continued. “He spent much of his life in the army, and I gather from hints he gave, did some spying for the government. He was a trained killer and apparently had a highly developed sense of duty and honor. When he saw his relatives not upholding his standards he couldn’t let them continue.”

  My voice cracked a little. “I think he killed Tom because he thought with Tom dead I’d go away and stop nosing around. When I didn’t, he decided I had to go too. I feel somewhat…responsible for Tom’s death.”

  I was cuddled with Rigo. He had a protective arm around me. “Carol has promised she won’t get involved with any more murders.”

  I laughed but then aborted it because laughing hurt various parts of my body. “I never intended to get mixed up with murder. I was just trying to locate my cousins. I figured they’d be good people because we shared some DNA. I know that sounds conceited. Anyway, I was wrong. I guess the lesson here is all humans share DNA, but we’re all partly good and partly bad—”

  “But some of us are badder than others.” Frances finished my sentence. That’s what makes my work so interesting. Finding people, some of whom may not want to be found, uncovering frauds. Without criminals it would be a dull world.”

  Tina asked when I was going back to North Carolina.

  “I’m flying back tomorrow. I need to see my grandmother before her dementia gets worse. She’s one of my good relatives.” I hesitated as my voice broke a little. “The police have wrung about all they can get out of me at the moment, although of course I’ll be back to testify at Jason’s trial. I’m like a bad penny. You can’t get rid of me.”

  Ernie smiled. “We’re all glad to see you at any time, but one of us will be gladder than the others.”

  Rigo looked a bit embarrassed, so I gave him a squeeze. I felt the same way.

  ***

  Audrey drove Grandma to the Raleigh-Durham Airport to meet me, at her insistence. I collected my bag from the carousel and waited for them outside at the pickup area. When they pulled up I saw Grandma in the backseat and climbed in with her. I gave her a big hug. She recognized me as I could see from the tears in her eyes. As Audrey drove us to Chapel Hill, she asked me what I’d been doing.

  I gave a brief and sugar-coated recap of my adventures. I hesitated about telling Grandma that Jason was a killer, because I knew she had good childhood memories of him. I wouldn’t be able to hide it from her, however, so I told her, as delicately as I could. When I was through she surprised me.

  “He always was a rapscallion. He was forever getting into trouble. I’m not surprised. He’s the black sheep of the Boyd family.”

  “But Grandma, I thought you liked Jason.”

  “Oh, he was fun to be with. You never knew what he was going to do next. But I wouldn’t have married someone like that.”

  “Since he’s your first cousin, it’s probably just as well. You might have passed on some bad DNA. Then how would I have turned out?”

  “You’re right. I wouldn’t want you to be any wilder than you are already. It’s not suitable for a girl to do the things you do.”

  “I know, Grandma. I’ve learned my lesson. From now on I’m going to be meek and mild. I’m going to take up pursuits like napkin folding.”

  Of course, I had my fi
ngers crossed when I said it.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  After spending more than a quarter of a century as a pioneer in the computer industry, Alan Cook is well into his second career as a writer.

  Forget to Remember, the first Carol Golden mystery. CarolGolden is not her real name. She doesn’t remember or real name or anything about her past. She is found in a Dumpster in Southern California, naked and unconscious, and has to find out who she is and why someone wants to kill her.

  Run into Trouble, winner of several awards, chronicles a race along the California Coast in 1969 during the Cold War. As participants and former undercover agents Drake and Melody encounter deaths and other obstacles, they fear that the Cold War is about to heat up.

  The Hayloft: a 1950s mystery and award-winning Honeymoon for Three feature Gary Blanchard, first as a high school senior who has to solve the murder of his cousin, and ten years later as a bridegroom who gets more than he bargained for on his honeymoon.

  Hotline to Murder takes place at a crisis hotline in Bonita Beach, California. When a listener is murdered, Tony and Shahla team up to uncover the strange worlds of their callers and find the killer.

  His Lillian Morgan mysteries, Catch a Falling Knife and Thirteen Diamonds, explore the secrets of retirement communities. Lillian, a retired mathematics professor from North Carolina, is smart, opinionated, and loves to solve puzzles, even when they involve murder.

  Alan splits his time between writing and walking, another passion. His inspirational, prize-winning book, Walking the World: Memories and Adventures, has information and adventure in equal parts. He is also the author of Walking to Denver, a light-hearted, fictional account of a walk he did.

  Freedom’s Light: Quotations from History’s Champions of Freedom, contains quotations from some of our favorite historical figures about personal freedom. The Saga of Bill the Hermit is a narrative poem about a hermit who decides that the single life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.