Hereafter

by C. K. Crigger

  Squinting ahead, what she did see lifted her heart. Clustered at the near end of the valley, a group of ranch buildings stood sheltered by hills rising above the meadow and lake. There were a couple of good-sized barns with rock foundations and log sides; three large barracks-like buildings similar to the barns; and several smaller structures of uncertain use, one of which appeared to be a house.

  “Thank God!” Lily’s exclamation burst out as relief flooded through her. First thing on the docket, demand use of the rancher’s phone and call the local sheriff. The longer she waited, the worse her report of the dead creature would appear. Second thing, and here dread filled her, call her boss and report Lopez’s treachery. Everybody knew she and Lopez detested each other. Would Smithers even believe her?

  Clutching her back, which had acquired a deep-centered ache around her kidneys, she shuffled on, sweat pouring down her face, until she came to the first of the smaller buildings. Upon close examination, it seemed oddly built. More like an 1800’s fortified outpost than anything else. In fact—craning her neck, she squinted upward—were those portholes in what must be a second or third story? Nah. Ventilation system of some sort. Had to be.

  “Hello,” she called out. “Anybody here?” She was pretty sure there wasn’t or she would’ve heard them.

  Abandoning her pursuit of the dog, she continued on, her destination being the older of the two barns. It bore a decided resemblance in shape, size and location to the one where she stabled Heathen, her formerly wild mustang, before joining the team last night. Thinking about the little mare brought a smile to Lily’s face, lightening her mood for a moment. The Border Patrol had incorporated several mustangs into their arsenal of defense, and the animals had proved an excellent investment. Sturdy, and canny, the trail horses performed well in the woods and on rough, off-road terrain. Heathen—regardless of her name—was the best of the lot.

  Pushing aside her uneasy feeling about the ranch’s familiarity, Lily came to the first of the barracks. She ended up standing in front of a chained and padlocked door made of heavy, rough planks.

  This part of the place was nothing like the O’Quinn homestead, the well-kept and prosperous ranch where she stabled Heathen. Heavy silence wrapped the area, which seemed totally deserted. Only the rustle of leaves on some of the trees, and the rush of water in what must be a small stream just beyond her sight broke the stillness.

  No telephone, no food, no help.

  Lily hadn’t cried in years, but she damn well felt like crying now. Sitting down and bawling her eyes out.

  Exhausted, she lowered herself to the rock steps in front of the barracks and sat. She was shaking again, harder than ever, and hunger gnawed with a deep, gut-wrenching need. Putting her head on her knees, she rested, trying to will the tremors to stop. There was no need to explore further. Her keen ears and a sharp sense of smell told her she wouldn’t find anyone here; the barns were empty of livestock and had been for a while. The barracks doors behind her bore the same heavy chains as the rest of the buildings.

  Desolate. Forsaken. Empty of life except for a stray dog.

  And no frigging phone.

  Gradually, her shaking eased. The sweat dried on her face, leaving her skin feeling sticky and tight. She really did feel rocky, which made her wonder if she was coming down with something—something more than a recent stab with the knife. The ill feeling could hardly be caused by water drunk straight from the lake. Not this fast.

  Horror suddenly shook her. Crap! What if the knife had been contaminated with some kind of bacteria or virus. Anthraces, Ebola, bird or swine flu. It had, after all, been in the possession of a man she figured was a terrorist.

  A heartfelt groan escaped her, a noise almost in tandem with an echoing kind of groan coming from no more than ten feet away. Her head shot up.

  “You. What do you want now?” She eyed the black-and-white dog with some disfavor. He dropped her pheasant between his front legs, all the while staring at her out of beady brown eyes.

  The dog huffed, standing above the bird as if in protection. Then, delicately, he picked up the flop-necked pheasant and walked a few steps before turning to look back at her.

  “Not again. Who do you think you are?” Lily asked, her eyes narrowing. “Lassie or somebody? Hah! Knowing my luck you’re Cujo.”

  Emitting that funny huffing sound, he took another three or four strides, and paused again.

  Lily took a breath, wincing at the pain in her back, and got up. “What? For two cents I’d say you’re asking me to follow you.” And fooling herself, she suspected, because while the dog wasn’t threatening, he didn’t appear all that friendly either.

  As though reading her mind, the dog wagged its curly tail—once. “Okay,” she said, moving toward him. “I’ll bite. You lead and I’ll follow. But this had better not be a game. I’m not up to playing tag.”

  The dog darted away, leading her along an almost invisible footpath winding through the woods behind one of the barns. Dry grass and late-blooming weeds grew up in the path, showing no one had been this way for some days. An acrid scent rose up as her footsteps broke stems and leaves and she sneezed, an outburst that caused the dog to stop.

  She waved. “Go on,” she said, mightily surprised when he did.

  Soon she heard the gurgle of running water, which she surmised came from one of the small streams feeding the lake. The sound grew louder as she went until, momentarily losing sight of the dog, she slipped around one of the many large rock outcroppings and found its source. Although no more than four feet wide from bank to grassy bank, the creek swirled over a stony bed, clear and clean.

  Lily licked dry lips, but before she could kneel and taste the water, the dog gave a commanding bark, clearly a demand for attention. Looking around, she couldn’t see him until, Genie-like, he popped into sight as though spurted from solid rock. She squinted into the shade and, as the dog moved, he exposed what appeared to be the narrow entrance to a cave or a deep crevice in the stone. He huffed again.

  “What? You want me to look in there?”

  The dog’s stare compelled her into taking a few steps toward him.

  “There aren’t any rattlesnakes in that den, are there?” She shuddered. “Or another thing like that creature down by the lake?”

  The dog cocked its head and barked once before darting inside.

  Reaching down, she drew the survival knife from her belt. “Better not be,” she whispered. Whispered, because, although muffled, she heard sounds from inside the cave, sounds she identified as a man talking. A few words were actually decipherable. Three in particular. “Sliver, no. Hush.”

  Sliver, huh? An odd name for a dog, even if spoken in a hoarse, fading kind of voice. Still, Lily thought, once was enough for her to have learned a lesson when it came to blundering into blind spots.

  As she had done last night when fighting the terrorist—was it really only last night?—she lowered herself to the ground and crept forward on elbows and knees. And just like last night, it was a good thing she did, for as she peeked into the cave, her shadow bobbing in front of her, she heard the unmistakable twang of a crossbow string as a bolt flew just above her head.

  “Hey!” An involuntary yell escaped her as she ducked to the side of the cave opening where the stone offered protection. “Stupid dog, trying to get me killed.”

  As though protesting this estimation, inside the cave, the dog whined.

  She sat up, gasping as fresh pain gripped her back and traveled around her side. Lily listened, her superlative hearing centered on deciphering any sounds. She couldn’t help wondering if some weird monster was going to jump out at her with another bolt in his crossbow. If he did, she was as good as dead. She would never be able to bring the knife into play.Play. Right.

  The dog whined again, louder, imperious. This time there was no admonition to remain quiet. No response at all.

  Lily didn’t move, trying to breathe through her mouth without making a noise. She could hea
r the dog panting just a few feet beyond the cave entrance, but no other indication of life or movement. It began to look as though the man who’d shot at her was holding his breath as diligently as she.

  The dog’s—Sliver’s—sudden howl caused her to jump. Pathos seemed to steer his cry, raising goosebumps on her arms. She couldn’t bear it.

  “Mister,” she said, “your dog stole my pheasant. I’m hungry and I’d like it back.” Had she gone crazy, saying such a silly thing? “I’m not out to hurt anybody,” she continued. “Please. I just want the bird.”

  Silly or not, nobody laughed. She drew no response at all beyond Sliver’s short “huff.” Strange. After going so far as to shoot at her, you’d think the guy in the cave would respond somehow, if only to loose another bolt.

  “Mister?” Her earlier thought of how the dog was acting like Lassie came back. Movie dogs always brought help to their master when he was in trouble, using actions similar to Sliver’s to fetch someone. And of course, the rescuers never arrived until it was almost too late. Could this possibly be the situation?

  “Mister? Do you need help?”

  She waited, taking in her surroundings while she had the chance. The cave was well-hidden. If it hadn’t been for the dog she would never have found it. Never even suspected it existed. She saw no sign of people going in and out for water or other bodily needs, and the dog wasn’t big enough to leave much trace of his presence.

  So what did that mean? Did it mean whoever was in there was hurt? The creature she killed—he of the gangrenous wound. He lived for a while, there by the lake. Was it possible whoever was in the cave had done the damage and then, also wounded, denned up here?

  “Mister,” she called into the cave, “I’m coming in. Please don’t shoot me.”

  She wasn’t stupid. She dove in low and fast, rolling as she hit the ground, coming to a stop against the dog where he sat guarding a man.

  And her bird.

  Chapter 6

  Lily finished her wild dive into the cave, landing on her sore side and pulling already cramping muscles. She lay still, half paralyzed with pain.

  “Ouch.”

  She stared into the black-and-white dog’s eyes. In return, it peered down its nose at her before slinking around to lie beside the man who half-sat, half-lay against the far wall of the cave.

  The man hadn’t moved, a lucky thing for her since she couldn’t have stopped him from plugging her. The crossbow had dropped from his hands and fallen on ground out of his reach.

  “Crap,” she said, squinting at the body. After the sunshine outdoors she could barely see in the cave’s dark interior. “Tell me this isn’t another of those freaky things like I found down by the lake.”

  Sliver rested his chin on the man’s leg and uttered a pitiful whine.

  “Well, hell.” Lily, having seen enough dead bodies for one day, didn’t want to get anywhere near this one. Wouldn’t have, except those old Lassie stories as seen on cable reruns kept coming to mind.

  “Is this why you stole my pheasant?” she asked the dog. “You wanted me to come here? Because you almost got me killed, which I can’t say I appreciate. Looks like you ought to make prior arrangements with the host before you lead people on.”

  Sliver blinked at her.

  As Lily’s eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she finally made out the man’s features, which thankfully, at least at first glance, looked as normal as her own. Two eyes, a nose, a mouth, a jaw bristling with a week or two’s growth of white whiskers. A heavy set of wrinkles indicated he was quite old—maybe seventy or so—and he had the point of one those truly ugly spears stuck in him right where the shoulder and chest go together. She couldn’t imagine how he ever managed to cock the crossbow to shoot at her.

  Lily crawled to his side, leaning to allow the maximum of outdoor light to shine past her. Putting her middle finger on his carotid, she checked for a pulse. Shallow, thready—but there. She didn’t need a thermometer to tell he was running a fever. Heat radiated from his skin.

  “You blew it, pooch,” she told the dog. “You picked the wrong person to help him. I’m a Border Patrol agent with just enough medical training to know my limitations. Sorry, buddy, this is way out of my league.”

  Her explanation had no discernible effect on the dog. He leaned over and swiped her hand with his tongue, before doing the same to his master’s face. Maybe, she thought, the poor animal had run into a difficulty similar to hers—that of not being able to find anyone else. Maybe she was a last resort to him, too.

  Groaning, the man made a slight movement. In her helplessness, she almost groaned along with him. What on earth should she do now? Any fool could see what he needed was a medi-vac helicopter and a trauma unit. What he got was a tired and sick Border Patrol agent lacking fundamental resources.

  Shivering a little, she dug out her cell phone and tried for a signal. Nothing had changed. It was still dead as the proverbial doornail, with nary a single blink or flicker of light. She set the useless piece of junk aside.

  “What do you think, Sliver? Should I boil some water? Maybe I should clean and cook that pheasant. Maybe he’s as hungry as we are.” On second thought, she doubted it. Nobody could be hungrier than she.

  The dog tilted its head sidewise, watching as she leaned over to peer at the man’s wound. Buried deep in his body, the point of the spear had gone almost far enough to pierce his back on the other side. Someone had broken off the long end. Pus leaked out around the edges, leaving a thin, greenish-gold trail running down his ribs. She sniffed. Maybe it was just the dirt and generally skanky smell of the cave, but she believed the wound might be starting to turn bad. Not as far gone as the creature down by the lake, but bad enough.

  “Phew, that’s gross.” Swallowing heavily, she sat back on her heels. Judging by the bright red flesh, she figured infection had set in. “I’m afraid your master has blood poisoning,” she informed the dog. Bits from historical novels came back to her. “I’ll bet part of his shirt is trapped in the wound. That spear head needs to come out.”

  “You do it,” he said.

  Lily sprawled on her butt in the dirt, crying out in surprise.

  “I can’t do it myself,” His deep voice was weak and halting. “I tried. Can’t wait for the clan. You do it.”

  “Me?” she squeaked. “No. no. Beyond my capabilities, I’m afraid.

  His eyes, shut until now, drifted open. They were a very dark blue, she saw, and his hair was snowy white. His unfocused gaze sought her face. “What family?” he asked, his bewilderment plain. Then louder, as if alarmed, “Are you Techno?”

  Techno? What the hell was he talking about? “I’m Lily Turnbow,” she said. “I’m with the Border Patrol out of Metaline.”

  He shook his head, as though she spoke a foreign language and he couldn’t understand her words. “Take it out,” he demanded. “It’s killing me.” He slumped, trailing into unconsciousness again.

  Sliver huffed a soft whine, sticking his nose under his master’s hand and lifting it, as though he were beseeching her on the man’s behalf.

  Struck dumb by the mere thought of doing what he asked, Lily jumped to her feet, cracking her head a solid whack on the cave’s low roof. It served as a reality check. Digging that chunk of lumber out of him would be nothing less than full-fledged surgery. He must be nuts to even suggest such a thing.

  Or desperate, an inner voice amended. And it was true she’d seen no one else anywhere, except the three-eyed dead man, if he had been, in fact, a man at all. And the dog. Even the nearby buildings were closed up tight and inaccessible. Damn! If only her cell phone worked and she could call for help. She tried to ignore what her overworked inner voice was asking now. For instance: What help? Where is everybody? Why does everything, from the landscape to the quality of the air, seem skewed? What was that unearthly creature I killed?Where the hell am I?

  Sliver’s impatient pawing at her leg brought her out of her funk. Could be the dog was smarter
than she. She thought he was agreeing with his master, urging her to do something.

  Lily brushed dirt and grit from her hands. “Water,” she said. “Preferably boiled. Isn’t that always the first thing?” She provided an answer for herself. “No. First thing is a fire.”

  In examining the cave, she found evidence that it had seen use before as a shelter. A circle of blackened stones formed a fire pit over which hung the only amenity, a small kettle. There wasn’t much else. No food, and only a small supply of bolts for the man’s crossbow. That was it. Certainly no medical equipment that she could find. When she went through his pockets, she discovered he wasn’t even carrying a knife.

  At least finding dry wood for a fire was no problem; the area was full of it. She gathered an armload and found some cedar punk for tinder. Sanitizing came first, she decided, feeling a little cheered as she dropped the load inside the cave. Then would come the bad part. But after laying the fire, she ran into a major obstacle. Although she searched every pocket in her jacket and cargo pants, she found no matches and, worse luck, the wounded man had none either. With a trace of panic spreading through her, Lily calmed herself by dragging out the terrorist’s big survival knife. These things had a waterproof storage cavity in the hilt for matches, didn’t they?

  They did.

  But this one, although she found the cavity, was empty except for a faded note written in Arabic characters that she couldn’t even begin to read.

  She hunkered beside the fire pit, frustrated and growing madder by the minute.

  “You’re no help.” She glared at the black-and-white dog still guarding the rather bedraggled pheasant. “Seeing as how you can eat it raw, you might as well take that damn bird out of here. I’m sure it’s not fit for human consumption by now anyway.”

  The sound of her voice must have roused the man, because his arms began threshing, and he moaned pitifully. When she went over and felt of him, his face was hotter than it’d been even a few minutes ago, his skin faded to the color of ashes. The seconds of his life were ticking past with every moment she delayed.