by Lyn Stone
Shots would alert Hightower and lose them the element of surprise. He had always been told not to make eye contact with a dangerous animal, but Clay had always done that with the two-legged variety and that had saved him more than once. A subtle flicker of the eyes signaled the next move of a man, so why not a beast?
He met the animal’s narrowed amber gaze, heard the warning growl, then a huh-huh-huh sound. Fascinated, he watched the panther open its mouth, twist its head and look off to its right. Then it gazed back at him with a steady, non-threatening regard. It repeated the action.
Then Clay watched it turn slowly and silently disappear down the far side of the large outcropping of rocks.
For several minutes he remained locked in position, unable to move. Or maybe unwilling to move. He had felt no fear. His adrenaline had kicked in there for a minute, but in a positive way.
He had no desire to go after it, to kill it, though that would have made perfect sense. It could return and attack, track them and take them when they were vulnerable. Hell, it could have killed at least one of them before the other could have gotten a weapon out if it had attacked while they slept.
“That was so amazing!” Vanessa whispered as she approached him from behind. “There are so few sightings.”
Clay turned, lowering his weapon. He saw that she had hers out, too, holding it down by her side now. “Shots would have warned Hightower,” he said, thinking to justify why he hadn’t fired.
She smiled indulgently. “Don’t be silly. You knew better than to shoot your spirit guide. What kind of Indian would that make you?”
“Don’t make fun of it,” he said, a little riled that she was finding humor in this.
“I’m not.” She tucked her weapon into the holster attached to her belt and snapped the cover. “Ah, but you’re embarrassed, caught listening to a painter? Well, don’t be.”
“Painter?”
She nodded. “That’s what the old folks call them.” She looked off in the direction the panther had looked and pointed. “I guess he was telling you to go that way.”
Clay didn’t argue. Maybe she was teasing him, maybe she wasn’t. Though she had encouraged the vision thing, he couldn’t be absolutely sure she really bought into it. Maybe she thought he was faking it all, and just wanted to see how far he would take it.
But the big cat had looked him directly in the eyes and Clay had sensed something in the exchange. If not an actual communique, then something. Wouldn’t Mercier, with his telepathic obsessions, freak out over this one?
In any event, the way the panther had signaled was as good a way as any. It led up, and the top of Killbird was the most likely place to find their prey. “So let’s go,” he said with a shrug. If she was poking fun at him, and the panther didn’t eat them somewhere along the way, he would have the last laugh.
They lingered long enough to consume a couple of the MREs her grandfather had packed for them. Clay had forgotten how truly tasteless the military meals-ready-to-eat were. It had been a while since he had had one.
Mr. Walker had a case of the things on hand for emergencies such as getting snowed in. Apparently living off the land and eating berries and bugs held little appeal, even for a former soldier. The eggs-and-ham thing Clay had opened wasn’t a great improvement over that, he thought as he chewed.
“Ketchup?” Vanessa asked, her voice brighter than it had any right to be first thing in the morning. She tossed him a small packet, obviously filched from a local fast-food place. He squeezed it on the concoction he was eating while she prepared the coffee. A small can of Sterno heated the tin cup full of instant that they would share.
He toasted her when it was his turn to drink. “To MREs. Yet another reason to get this over with and get back down the mountain.”
She appropriated the cup and drank her share as if it were special brew. “You’re a city boy at heart, aren’t you? Remind me never to invite you on another camping trip. Bitch and moan. Bitch and moan.”
Clay couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Busted. So I like my comforts. Too many days in the field weaned me off all the primitive pleasures.”
Her eyes flared comically. “Well, not all of them, I guess.”
He silently agreed as he gathered up the used packets, tucked the trash away in a special container and stuffed it in his pack to dispose of later.
Vanessa capped the Sterno, rinsed out the coffee cup with a bit of water and put both away. “Ready,” she said, standing and shouldering her backpack.
Clay led the way again, keeping a sharp eye out for signs of the panther as well as any indication that Hightower had passed this way.
He wished he could make Vanessa understand him. To her credit, she wanted to, but he knew she never could. Her analysis had been right as far as it went. His greatest wish was to belong, but he would never risk opening himself up enough for that. Too much rejection already, he guessed.
The white/Indian conflict within him had not been an issue for years. At least he hadn’t thought it was. Whites saw him as Indian. His doing. Indians saw him as white. His father’s doing. The truth was, he was an American, a soldier at heart, a man who simply wanted to make a difference. A good difference in the society in which he lived.
He hadn’t given the race thing any thought lately until this last vision. For the first time in his life, he had felt truly Indian and he had liked that. Liked it almost too much.
If he read Vanessa right, she was trying to make him angry and he knew why. She felt something strong for him that she did not want to feel. So why did he keep trying with her? Why not just leave her the hell alone?
Maybe because he felt the same thing and couldn’t help himself. But was she right? Was it Vanessa the woman or was it all she represented that drew him like a lodestone? Until he could answer that question truthfully, he wouldn’t touch her again.
They had climbed steadily for an hour when thunder rumbled in the distance and clouds quickly enveloped the mountain. Visibility dwindled immediately. “We have to stop,” Vanessa called just as Clay’s back disappeared. “Wait! I can’t see you.”
She ran smack into him, bounced off and landed on the ground. He reached down to help her up. “Talk about pea soup. You can’t see your hand in front of your face. I guess we sit here until we can.”
The cloud that surrounded them either drifted or lifted, impossible to tell which. The ground sloped so much where they were, she was afraid they would slide back down the mountain when it got wet. And it was definitely about to get wet.
Thunder boomed. Lightning struck nearby almost simultaneously. A tree cracked and they heard it fall. The sharp odor of ozone filled the thin humid air. Sudden, driving rain drenched them within seconds. “We have to find some shelter away from these trees before we get fried.”
Unable to see more than six or eight feet ahead through the rain, Vanessa took the lead since she knew the terrain better than he did. “This way,” she told him. “Hang on to my pack in case we get clouded again.” She felt the tug as he gripped it.
Carefully, she picked her way around rocks and through the scrubby ground cover. She spied a dark shape marring the rock face just ahead. “There! Is that a cave?”
“Let me check it out first,” Clay ordered, stepping around her. Vanessa moved to one side to let him pass and the rocks beneath her feet gave way.
At first, she thought they had only shifted on the ground and she tried to step over them. Her foot met thin air. She screamed as she fell sideways, unable to find a foothold.
Her breath cut off with a jerk as the straps of her pack yanked her shoulders back. She hung suspended on a rock face. Below her was nothing but rain. Terrified to move, even to breathe, she did manage a low-pitched moan that sounded something like Clay’s name.
“Stay still!” he cautioned. “I’ll get you. Snake your hands up and grab on to your straps. Hold tight. I’m going to lie down and drag you back up, okay?”
She made another sound that wasn’t q
uite a word. Inch by careful inch, expecting to fall free at any instant, she lifted her left hand. The right arm wouldn’t move. Pain knifed through her shoulder every time she tried. With a death grip on her left strap secured, she sucked in a slow, deep breath to tell Clay about her arm. But suddenly the pack moved and she dropped a few inches.
“Hold on!” he demanded. “I’ve got you. Relax now. Don’t struggle. Just grip it tight with both hands.”
“Can’t!” she cried. “My right shoulder’s out.”
She heard his curse. “Okay. All right. Just take it easy,” he said, his voice calm again, trying to reason with her panic. “Turn to your left slowly. I’m twisting the pack so you can face the rocks. That way maybe you can get a toehold and help me lift you. Can you do that, Vanessa? Try to do that. Go, now,” he ordered.
She turned as best she could. The pack was above her head, only the shoulder straps now beneath her arms holding her. The chest strap was beneath her chin, nearly choking her.
Her shoulder screamed all on its own and she fought fainting for all she was worth. Granting with effort, she moved her feet slightly and felt the toe of her boot connect with the rock face. She dug onto it, managed to push herself up a few inches. There!
The purchase defaulted and she swung free. Rocks tumbled, clacking and bumping below her for what seemed forever. It had to be a long way down and there was no splash at the bottom. Only the pelting rain and no place to put her feet.
Tears filled her eyes, washed away just as quickly as she shed them. God, she was going to die. No way Clay could lift her dead weight and a thirty pound pack up this vertical drop.
“Vanessa!” he called. “Stay calm. I’ve still got you. You with me? Say something!”
“Help?” she managed, feeling ridiculous as the word popped out. “I can’t do anything!” Anger suddenly pushed the fear down. She had to do something. But her right arm was useless, there was nothing beneath her feet and her left hand had already gone numb from gripping the strap.
“Here we go,” Clay said. “I’m backing up, pulling you a little higher. When I stop, try to feel around with your feet again. Can you do that?”
“Yeah,” she gasped, wishing she didn’t sound so… helpless.
Inch by grueling inch, she felt him drag her a little higher. The rain felt merciless, threatening, never-ending. At last he rested. Vanessa gingerly toed her boots forward and felt both catch on something. “Got it,” she shouted. “Pull and I’ll push. Pray it holds!”
She heard him granting and tried her best to propel herself upward. The pack above her shifted to her right and she could see his hand above her.
“Another foot, Van. One more push if you can make it. You’re doing great, sweetheart. Don’t give out on me now.”
She bent her knees one at a time and slid her toes over the rocks. Finally she found a crack wide enough to hold the entire toe of her left boot. She tested it as much as she could without resting her whole weight there. It felt solid.
“If I straighten my leg, I think I can raise myself close enough for you to reach my hand,” she said in a rush.
“On three, go for it,” he said. “One…two…three!” He pulled and she pushed. Vanessa cried out with relief when his strong hand clasped her left wrist.
“I have to cut you free of the pack so I can get you up here,” he told her. “Steady now. I’m slicing through the straps. Don’t panic when it falls free.”
She felt him slide the blade of her grandfather’s hunting knife beneath the chest strap, then the one on her right shoulder. Biting her tongue to keep from crying out, Vanessa groaned. The pack swung from her left shoulder now, wrenching it painfully, rendering it almost as useless as her right. He quickly sliced through the last strap and it fell away. She heard it bump the rocks on its long way down.
Now she was braced with one toe in the crevice and Clay gripping her left wrist.
“Try another toehold,” he commanded. He didn’t have to tell her to hurry. She knew he must be exhausted by this time.
She felt around with her free foot and gained a small fissure. “Ready,” she told him. She moved her foot out of the first hold and pushed hard with her right.
A mad scramble followed as Clay clutched her jacket with one hand, held onto her wrist and somehow got the top half of her body on the ledge where he lay.
“Rest a minute,” she gasped. Vanessa lay there for a long few minutes dangling half over the edge while they recovered. Then he grasped the back of her belt and pulled her up completely, rolling her away from the precipice and into his arms. He gripped her so hard it hurt, but she relished it, burrowed into him and cried like a baby.
“Shh. You’re all right now. You’re fine. You’re safe,” he crooned, running his hands over her, smoothing her hair out of her face, pressing his mouth to her temple, her eyes, her forehead. “God, that was close,” he groaned. “But you’re fine. Just fine.”
She wasn’t fine. She hurt like hell and the true extent of the terror was only now coursing through her. But Clay was here, holding her, saving her. She cried some more, unashamed. She was so damned glad to be alive.
Once she calmed down a little, he released her and sat up. “We’d better see about that shoulder. I’ll get you down the mountain and to a hospital.”
“When the rain stops,” she said. “We don’t want a replay of this.” They were both covered in mud and debris, soaked to their bones and thoroughly spent.
She thought about James Hightower somewhere up here on the mountain, planning to detonate his bombs from this remote location. They couldn’t let that happen.
Clay stood. “Stay here a minute. I’ll see if that really was a cave we saw.” He grabbed up his discarded backpack, glanced around as if trying to orient himself, then loped off into the rain.
Her adrenaline rush was dwindling and she began to feel really shaky. Her body shuddered as she stared at the crumbled edge of the cliff and the muddy evidence of their struggle.
The full impact of what had just happened to her and where she would be right now if Clay had not been here hit her full force.
Against all odds, he had saved her. She owed him her very life.
The cave proved even larger than Clay had hoped. He saw evidence of human habitation. Someone had left the remnants of a fire near the entrance. It was too wet there now from the rain blowing in to kindle one on the same spot, but maybe farther back. He dropped his pack and fished out the flashlight to check for any four-legged occupants that might resent company.
When he found it safe, he rushed back out to get Vanessa. She lay curled on the ground, either asleep or unconscious. He scooped her up and carried her back into the cave, depositing her in a dry spot away from the opening. “First order of business is getting you dry and warm,” he muttered, not really expecting her to answer him.
Her backpack was at the bottom of the gorge so they only had one dry change of clothing, one Mylar blanket and half the food and water. However, her grandfather had packed two large Ziplocs with the bare essentials, one in each of their packs.
He began to strip off her wet, muddy clothing. She groaned and he stopped, remembering her injured shoulder. Gingerly he probed it and exhaled sharply with relief when it didn’t appear to be dislocated or broken. “Probably pulled a muscle or tendon,” he told her.
Gently, he removed her jacket and her shirt. Her skin was chilled. He pressed his fingers to her neck and checked her pulse. Rapid. Her breathing was shallow and jerky. He feared she was already in shock. It wasn’t that cold, but hypothermia was still a possibility. She was soaking wet and probably traumatized to hell and gone.
“Let’s dry you off,” he crooned, patting her down with the extra T-shirt from his pack. “You’ll be just fine. I’ll get a fire going soon as I get you wrapped up.”
He cocooned her in his dry shirt, snuggled the Mylar blanket around her and gently laid her down on her side. In minutes, he had the fire going, burning the brick of fire
starter from his pack. Unfortunately there was nothing else to burn within the cave. The brick would burn for a while, but wouldn’t throw off much heat.
Well, he would have to use what warmth was available. Shucking off his own wet clothes and drying the best he could with the shirt he had used as a towel, Clay then brought her closer to the fire and lay down next to her. The crinkly Mylar barely covered them both.
She burrowed closer and he felt her begin to shiver. After a while, she relaxed, sighed and slept.
Clay remained awake, unable to ignore the soft, sweet body pressed to his. Though he didn’t move, he did let his imagination wander all over the place. All over her.
Several wonderful, torturous hours passed before she awoke. Her left arm stretched out and she arched her back. “Strangely enough, I feel pretty good.”
Oh, she felt good, all right. Way too good. She had joked about his being hot as a firecracker. If she only knew.
“I should go out and wash off some of the mud while it’s still raining,” she said after a while.
“How’s the shoulder?” he asked as she pulled away from him and he helped her sit up.
She looked very young bundled in his large shirt. She was such a strong presence that at times he forgot just how small she was, a full foot shorter than he was and so slender she almost appeared delicate. He knew she wasn’t that. Not Vanessa. This girl had strength, grit and an indomitable will to survive. She never gave up, never gave in.
She tested her shoulder, rotating it slightly, and winced. “Hurts, but at least I can move it.”
Clay ran his hand over it several times to reassure himself she wasn’t downplaying the pain. “I’ll get you some ibu-profen from the first-aid kit and some water.”
He retrieved his tin cup, took it outside the cave and let it fill with rainwater for her while the rain beat the mud off him. When he heard her laugh, he opened his eyes and turned around. She stood nearby, naked as he was, face upturned to the skies.