“Yeah, but your dad didn’t know that. As far as he knows we’re still waiting here like a couple of sitting ducks, or hiding somewhere . . . still sitting ducks. He should have stayed with us. Let Matt and the bitch go after them.” Her pacing picks up. She makes a couple of laps and then stops. I had been watching her, and in the glow of the fire and lamplight I was seeing something happening to her aura. In this light, auras hadn’t been all that visible, especially since I still have to really work to see them. Now, however, Mom’s is pulsing. “That little fuckn’ bitch!” she suddenly yells and I jump to my feet. “She did this. She wanted it this way so that she could protect him. The hell with us. We’re expendable. Kill us off and he’s all hers.” She stares up at the entrance. “I can’t believe I fell for it. That little fuckn' whore bitch!” She looks around and finds the club she tried to kill Sam with earlier. With that in hand she takes off up the path.
“No, Mom!” I yell and go after her. She turns on me, bringing the club over her shoulder. “Don’t you even think about stopping me,” she hisses. I back away and she turns and continues. Not knowing what else to do I plant my feet and focus my mind to break into hers.
“Get out!” she screams and turns on me again. “I told you to stay out of my head.”
But Mom.
She walks toward me. “Get out! Get out! GET OUT!”
I back out and she takes off on her quest to find and beat Sam into a pulp. It’s dark and there’s no way of knowing which way they went, but she could start thrashing through the bush, screaming, maybe even getting lost or hurt on the way to getting us all killed. I can’t let her get out of the mountain. I consider jumping into her mind and the hell with the consequences, but what could I do even then? It’s not like I can take control of her. I’d just piss her off even more.
I turn and look around the cave and spot the glowing eyes of a sabre-toothed cat up in a far corner. I’m sure it is Simon as Sam probably has all the others with her. I told Dad that I possibly had some of Sam’s power, that maybe I could talk to the cats. I haven’t tried. It was just a feeling, a theory. As a matter-of-fact, after I said it to him I retracted it. Told him it was a stupid thought. He agreed.
But . . . what if?
Mom is halfway up the path.
I plant my feet again, focus all my energy toward the big cat and send the thought. Simon!
He doesn’t move. At least I don’t think he moves. It’s hard to see him all that well in the darkness of that corner of the cave.
Simon! Stand!
Still nothing. Maybe he can’t move because of his injury, or he has to move slowly. Maybe I’m being crazy to think that I can talk to him, that I can give him orders.
Maybe he doesn’t understand words. How does Sam do it?
Maybe she sends pictures. She sent pictures to me to show what she did with Dad. She didn’t give me words. She gave me pictures.
I make a picture in my mind of a sabre-toothed cat standing and then, Simon! I send the picture.
He stands. Even in the dark I can see his massive body rise. I look toward the cave entrance and wonder if he has enough time to get there before Mom. I form a picture of him blocking the entrance and then send it to him.
He moves! I can’t believe it!
But he’s moving too slow. I throw out another picture of him actually standing in front of my mom, stopping her from going past.
Hurry! How do I send a picture of hurry?
I take off after Mom. I need to slow her down long enough for Simon to get there. I get to the switchback in the path and scream out loud. “Mom!” She doesn’t stop. Shit all to hell! I have no choice. I reach into her mind. Mother! Stop now!
She turns around, putting her back to where Simon is coming across and up the slope. Her eyes blaze down upon me. I am in her mind and she is trying to throw me out with her own power, power she does not have. Her anger flares, though, and it feels as though she is standing in front of me, blasting me with her fury. Like a child who has to convince herself that rocks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me, I hold my ground knowing her anger will not hurt me, as long as I can stay away from her club. She steps toward me and I back up, holding my mental ground. Think about what you’re about to do. This is not a plan of Sam’s to take Dad away. She is trying to save all our lives. If you rush after her you will kill us all.
She stops coming at me. “Get out!” Her high-pitched scream reverberates off the rock walls. She turns and continues on her way. I pull out of her mind and then follow cautiously.
Her eyes are focused on the ground in front of her feet. Ten yards from Simon she looks up. She stops. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t seem to be at all deterred. She raises the club. “Get out of my way!”
Now I’m convinced she has gone crazy.
Simon opens his mouth wide and snarls back at her. Just his normal teeth would be enough to scare the bejeezus out of anyone. The sight of the huge sabers weakens my knees, and the snarl is not even directed at me.
Simon! Don’t hurt her. I know he doesn’t understand words, so I send an image of my arm around her and then Sam’s arm around her. Friend.
He turns broadside to her and settles himself down. The patch that Matt applied to Simon’s wound is dark with blood, fresh blood I am sure from having to jump and respond to my order. He looks weak and tired. Mom remains rooted to her spot, staring at him as though they are having a contest.
Of course! She’s trying to get him to back down. The weakness of the big Sabre-toothed cat is the human face. But Simon doesn’t seem to be anymore bothered by her evil look than that of a tree. Is it all human faces he no longer has fear of, or just ours? Is it being learned away and future generations, if there were to be any, would eventually have no fears at all?
I consider reaching in for Mom’s thoughts, but decide to not invoke more of her wrath, and to wait and see what she does. The seconds tick by, many furious beats of my heart for each one. Good Simon, I say to the big cat, for lack of anything else to do. Good boy.
Mom backs up and then drops the club and carefully settles to the ground. I walk up and kneel down beside her. “We’re trapped,” she says. “She’s taken him and has left us to die.”
“No. She hasn’t. She’s trying to save us.”
“You’re so damned gullible.”
Me? Gullible? “No, Mom. I’m not.”
“Can’t you see it? It’s plain as day.”
“Is what plain as day?”
“That she wants my husband . . . your father.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
She raises her head and her anger. “Where did you get the idea you could talk to me this way? When did this start that you think you can stand against me?”
“It started when I came to the conclusion that I don’t want to die. That I don’t want you or Dad to die.” I sit my butt onto the ground in front of her. “I may look like a child to you and maybe I’m still the physical age of a child, though that can be argued, but I have had a lot of growing up experiences in the last few days . . . few weeks. I’ve been forced to become an adult whether I’ve wanted to or not.”
She snorts. “The sign of becoming an adult isn’t fighting with your mother.”
“It’s this psychic power I have. It’s like it’s been sitting in me all my life waiting for the right time to be turned on. Maybe there’s an internal monitoring system that watched until I was ready, because it knows it couldn’t have been handled by a child.”
She says nothing.
“And in this time I have grown up, you seem to be regressing. You’re the one who’s acting like a child. I’m having to do crazy things to keep you from hurting yourself and the rest of us.”
“You just said it. You’re crazy.”
I laugh. “No, Mom. I’m afraid you’re the one who is going crazy.”
“Bullshit!” There’s a long silence. “Can’t you see that she has us trapped. Why would she tell the cat
s to not let us out? She wouldn’t care unless she was trying to keep us from something, like stealing my husband.”
“Simon is the only cat she left behind, and I don’t think she told him anything other than to protect us.”
“He walked right over here and blocked my way. He would have hurt me to keep me in here. I’m sure he didn’t make that decision on his own.”
“You’re right. He didn’t.”
“He’s under her control to keep us . . . me under control.” She carefully pushes herself to her feet, using the club as a crutch, gives Simon a long evil eye, then turns her back to him and starts back down the path. “To hell with it all. You’ll see. They’ll never come back.”
“Mom,” I call to her.
“Don’t you never mind. You’ve become impossible. No point in trying to punish you.”
“Mom!”
“You’ll never obey me anyway. I can see that. You’ll do whatever it is you want to do. To hell with your mother. You think you’re an adult . . . then be an adult. Make your own decisions. Don’t come crawling back to me when you fall flat on your face.”
“Mom! I did it.”
“At least you don’t have to decide who to live with. Me or him. As an adult you can live anywhere you want.”
“Mother!”
She turns and looks up at me. “What? You did what?”
“I told Simon to stop you. Sam didn’t do it. I did.”
The pause is only brief; her charge totally unexpected. It is so sudden I don’t know what to do, where to go. I stand there as she races up the path, like an animal frozen in the headlights of an oncoming car. She brings the club high and then slams it down at me. At the last second I find my senses and easily dodge to the left. She turns and brings it around like a baseball bat. I drop to the ground and it swishes past my head. “NO MOM! Stop!”
I’m only barely worried about getting hit as I’m quick and athletic and she is not. I’m worried about her. The club rises over her head again and then starts down a me. I roll away and it slams against the ground. I jump to my feet, dodge her swing one more time and then rush at her, throwing my arms around her and holding her as tight as I can. “Stop Mom!” I plead through tears running down my face. She tries to get away, then beats on my back with her fists, screaming, “Get away from me! You’re with them!” I am stronger than she is, my years of swimming providing muscles unheard of in teenage girls. After a time she quiets; her arms drop to her side. “You’re not my daughter.”
She is not of her own mind. I have to convince myself of that or else I will become angry and lash back. I need to wipe my face, my nose, but I don’t dare let loose of her. I breathe deep through my mouth, taste mucus and tears, and relax my grip a little. “Come on, Mom. Let's go back down below.”
“No!” She tries to wiggle free once more. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re his daughter. You’re not my daughter.”
I close my eyes against the stinging and repeat to myself that this isn’t my mother talking. She is not of her right mind. Be gentle. Be kind. “Come on. You need to lie down and take care of your back.” I cautiously let loose with one arm, step to the side and give her a gentle push. She steps forward once, then again. I release my hold and we are walking slowly, together. I kick the club aside from where she had dropped it.
“You’re just like her,” she says. “Maybe you’re her daughter.”
“I belong to you, Mom.”
“It’s like you all have your own little mind-reading club where I’m not allowed. You know what they did, don’t you?”
“What?”
“They made babies.”
“Excuse me!”
“They made babies. That’s what Vandermill and his people did.”
“Oh.” I have to stifle a laugh. “I know that, Mom.”
“They made babies and sold them. They used Mexican women to carry the fetuses which were made up of the sperm and egg of two other people. The Mexican women were just host bodies, human test tubes. Maybe I was a test tube for her and him.”
We stop as I grab her arm again. I look right at her. “Mom! I’m your baby. I’m Dad’s baby. You and Dad. Don’t start creating something that didn’t happen.”
“How would you know what didn’t happen? Or are you that psychic weird, too?”
“None of this started until I was eight years old. You know that. Sans Sanssabre didn’t exist for very long before that.”
“Oh yes it did. Many years before that. You could have been their first experiment.”
I shake my head at her. “No! This is . . .” I stop myself from saying crazy, afraid that I’ll set her off again. “. . .this is just your imagination doing overtime.” I start us walking again, and soften my voice. “I understand you being upset. There’s a hell of a lot to be upset about.”
“You bet there is. Get rid of her and we’ll all be fine.”
“No, Mom. Get rid of her and we’ll all be dead.”
Chapter 60
Reba
Mom lies on her back on the sleeping bag while I add wood to the fire. Her head is on a rolled up blanket. Her knees are up, feet flat on the ground, deep within her own thoughts. I wish I could see what she is thinking. I cannot slip in with even a mental toe without sending her into a rage. I poke at the coals a bit and then walk over to bend down and look at her watch.
“What?” she says accusatorially.
“Seeing what time it is. It’s 5:12.”
“Wonderful.” She closes her eyes.
I pace for a few minutes and then retrieve the bag of dynamite. Sitting far from the fire, I start measuring and cutting the fuses. Four inches. Eight seconds. I count eight seconds in my head. It’s an awfully long time, but I can’t force myself to cut them any shorter. How far inside do the fuses go? One inch? Two inches? A quarter inch? The importance of knowing eats inside me. I consider trying to take one apart to find out. I don’t.
All cut, I carefully put them back into the bag.
Thirteen sticks of death.
Zach
I’m wet and cold. Ignore it, I tell myself. We’re fighting for our lives. I can’t stop the shakes.
While Sam scouts ahead I sit under a huge Douglas fir enjoying a reprieve from the constant drizzle, although enjoy might be an exaggeration. Matt is squatted five feet away, peering out into the dark rain. My shaking, I realize, is not just from being wet and cold. There is a different kind of shake underlying the first, and a looseness in my bowels. I could use a Porta-Potti right now, and a bucket of courage. I look at my watch and then turn the goggles off and remove them from my head. Quarter past five. Sunrise can’t be more than a half hour or so.
“One dog is down.” Sam startles me into awareness. I start fumbling with the goggles, trying to find up from down. She squats down between us. “I don’t think they have any idea what happened to the dog. He was killed and carried away, but he raised a bit of ruckus in his last few seconds. As a result, the camp is awake.”
“The second dog?” Matt asks.
“He’s being cautious I’m sure, not wanting to follow the path of his buddy. His senses are probably well aware of what the threat is now. All of the men are up, and the safeties on their guns are probably off.”
“But they don’t know what they’re up against yet,” Matt says. “They probably think it was a bear or cougar that got the dog.”
“Most likely. But they’re still on high alert.”
“The dog especially.” For some reason I’m more afraid of him than the gun toting goons.
“I don’t think he’s going to be too much of a problem. As a matter-of-fact, he may be an asset now. He’s got the scent of the sabre-toothed cat which he wants to follow, and my scent which the men want him to follow. Both I and the cats have done circles around the camp, coming and going from different directions.”
“They’d be stupid to try and follow him,” Matt says.
“It won’t take them long to figure ou
t he’s unreliable. Until then, they’ll be walking in circles.”
“Good.”
“Not necessarily. Now we can’t predict them. It’s easier to ambush them if we know where they’re going to be. We’re going to have to get them before they leave their camp.”
“Then let’s do it,” Matt says.
“Get your goggles on, Zach.”
I drag the thing over my head, and turn it on. Matt and Sam are both looking at me.
Sam says, “As they say, it’s darkest just before dawn. If that’s true then we’re in it and have about ten minutes before it begins breaking.”
They both turn away. I crawl from under the tree and catch up to them. Darkest just before dawn. Things certainly can’t get any darker than this.
Three minutes later she points and whispers. “The creek goes around a bend. There’s a small opening on the right. That’s where they are. They’re human just like us so even though they’re concerned about the dog, and whatever got him, they still have to have their coffee. They have a small fire going.”
“That also means they probably don’t have their goggles on,” Matt points out.
“You’re right. Good point. Zach, you go up that way. You’ll come to a small outcrop of rocks. Keep that on your right and you’ll come to a point where you can look right down at their camp. You can’t miss it because of the fire. Matt, follow the creek until you see two fallen trees where you can cross. Do so and then stay next to the creek. You’ll also see their fire. The creek will be between you and them.”
I wait for more. When nothing else escapes her lips I ask, “Then what?”
“The rest is up to you guys. You’ll have them in a crossfire. Kill them.”
“But . . .”
“I know, Zach. I was hoping for a surprise, but that’s pretty much gone now. I’ll have the cats doing what they can, but I don’t want them getting shot. Okay! Let’s go!” she takes off in a different direction than she told the two of us to go.
“Five minutes to get in position,” Matt says. “When you hear my gun, open fire. If you see an opportunity, go ahead and I’ll follow.” With that, he heads out.
Sabre-Toothed Cat Trilogy Page 77