I stand kneecap deep for a full two minutes, until my nerve endings numb to the cold, then carefully slide one foot forward. I expect another rock or a sudden drop-off. There is neither, only a slight decline and the sensation of ice creeping over my kneecap. I set my weight and follow with the other foot. The process repeats and my thighs, one agonizing inch at a time, scream at the bitter cold sensations. I consider leaning forward and getting it over with, swimming for all I’m worth what is no farther than a small swimming pool. Six more inches forward, another inch deeper; I wait for more thigh to become numb. Will I be able to feel the next step, or will I think my numbed foot is settling on solid ground just before I plunge forward like a clumsy clown?
I push my foot forward, and to my surprise, up, so I ease out with the other foot, keeping my hands against the slick wall. Back to knee deep, then calf and mid-calf, to ankle, and suddenly I’m out of the water, balanced on a ledge, shivering like a half drowned cat.
Keep moving!
The rest is easy. A little clinging, a little Spiderman crawl and then I am sitting on solid ground dumping water out of my boots, which haven’t been totally dry since my first swim nearly twenty-four hours ago. I lace them back up and look toward the dark hole, the entry to the long, cold mountain passage that awaits me. I still have no impression of the cats.
I do, however, have an impression of the two women still standing where I left them. Just before the fires ignited the dynamite last summer, I had spoken to my mother, yelled at her actually, with my mind. I could probably do the same here, talk to Mandi and let her know I’ve made it. I’m sure our connection is strong enough. I don’t know about Sharon. I vowed way back at the beginning of college that I wouldn’t do that anymore, that I would stay out of people’s minds. Now here I am, muddling again, each time finding a justification for it, and then getting people killed.
No! I’m not getting anyone killed. I’ve saved lives . . . first Mandi back at Christmas, and then after muddling around in Sheriff Dan’s mind, Dad and Christi and Aunt Suzie. The deaths that have happened have not been of my doing. Dad is wrong. It’s not my fault. It’s their fault, Sheriff Dan and all his people. They’re causing their own deaths. I’m just trying to survive and keep alive those who I care about. There is nothing wrong with defending myself, or them, even if I have to use sabre-toothed cats to do so, or mental telepathy. It is in my hands to do whatever needs to be done.
Haven’t you gotten enough people killed already?
Can it be done without anyone else dying? That’s sort of up to them, isn’t it?
Again I consider trying to reach Mandi, but it takes a lot of energy and right now I am hungry to the point of weakness. Besides, it would probably scare her. I rise to my full height, shake off the chill, and then step into the black hole.
It doesn’t take long for the darkness to become near complete. I can actually make out fuzzy shapes, but I’m scared that I might step into a hole. There is one big one, for sure. When Dad, Mom, Matt and I passed by it a year ago, we dropped in a stone to find the bottom. It was a lot of seconds before we think we heard it hit. It would ruin an already perfectly shitty day if I were to fall into it. I power up the GPS.
Based on the exterior distance from one entrance to the other, which I calculated on the GPS yesterday, I estimate the interior passage to run for about a half mile. Moving slow and careful I figure I can make the distance in about fifteen minutes. I note the time and move on; my path and everything around me is illuminated by the faint glow of the GPS screen.
Six minutes into my journey I come upon the hole . . . the bottomless pit. At the same time I remember the energy bars I took from Matt’s pack. Just what I need . . . energy! I rip one open with my teeth, spit away a chunk of paper and stuff half the raisin-nut-caramel thing into my mouth. While I chew I look into the yawning pit. Stuffing the remainder of the bar into my mouth and the wrapper into my pocket, I pick up a fist-size stone, judge the center of the hole and toss it in. Two seconds later there is a clunk, followed by another second and then a thump. Okay. It’s not bottomless. Thirty-two feet per second squared means something like 190 feet—I remember a little of my high school physics—less the friction, less the bounce, plus or minus an error factor. Well over 100 feet in any case. It would be certain death to fall in. I step away from the edge just as the clang of metal against stone sounds from the passage ahead of me. In near panic I shove the GPS face against my racing heart, drop to a crouch, hold my breath and listen, waiting for a distant glow of an approaching light, evidence of men coming my way. I see and hear nothing—except the distant hum of the waterfall—until I have to breathe, and finish chewing. I swallow, inhale and hold, and then invoke my strongest psychic powers to learn what made the sound.
There is nothing. But then, what should I be expecting? I can talk to cats. I can talk to some humans, mind to mind; however, as I think about it, it has only been when they are in my line of sight. So I have to rely on my normal human senses . . . all right, my normal cat senses. With my super feline vision and hearing, I sense . . .
. . . nothing.
There is also my super feline nose which, in this case, only gives me the odor of water and wet rock coming from the cavern lake behind me. The movement of air is in the wrong direction to pick up the sweat of man, if man is the source of the clang. I remain frozen, unmoving, silent for at least two minutes. Maybe it was a piece of rock dislodging from its hold in the wall or ceiling of the passage, banging against another rock as it fell. Rock against rock wouldn’t sound like metal, though . . . would it?
I open my mouth wide and take deep, silent breaths while trying to decide what to do. How long do I stand like a statue of my mother’s daughter before concluding that what I heard was nothing more than the noise of the mountain . . . or my imagination? Certainly, with my feline hearing, I would pick up the foot plant of clumsy men, even if they are trying to be quiet . . . though I am upwind, which means that I may not be able to hear them unless they are exceptionally noisy. That also means that if I am even the slightest bit noisy, they could hear me.
I’ve been quiet . . . except for the stone I threw into the pit and the energy bar wrapper I crumpled and stuffed into my pocket. If I were in their place I certainly would have heard it. Did they? Maybe that’s why I’m not hearing them now. They heard my noise and have gone ultra quiet just as I have done upon hearing them. They also would have dowsed their lights. There is my advantage. I can move without my light, though I have to be ultra careful. They cannot move without theirs, which means that eventually, after not hearing anything more from me, they will have to turn theirs back on and continue. I have to get hidden.
I look down at the GPS still pressed against my chest. A peak at the screen indicates the lighted display has timed out. I dare not energize it again for fear the men will see it. As I said, I can get around without it, but it is like moving about a dark bedroom with only differences in gray tones to indicate where the furniture is. When you are familiar with the bedroom it is not too big a deal. I’ve only been in this place once before, a year ago, and had only a brief look at it just a few minutes ago before dowsing my light. The pit is right in front of me. To my right is the passage back to the lake. To my left is the passage toward the men. To my back is only the passage wall. Where can I hide?
I try to invoke my psychic memory. That’s useless. I have no psychic memory . . . no memory at all of anything beyond what I just described. There may be a dozen little spots in which I could hide my body, but without at least a little light I’ll never see them. Going around by feel could take forever, or could dump me into another pit I’ve not noticed. Shit to hell what do I do?
My imagination is working overtime. There probably are no men. I’ve taken one little noise that is likely the mountain settling, and turned it into a herd of bad guys coming after me. Get a grip, Reba! They don’t know this passage is here so how could they possibly be coming down it? Even if they found a passage coming from the ot
her entrance, how would they guess that it would lead to the lake? These men aren’t that smart, except . . .
. . . Sheriff Dan. He could figure it out. He knows there’s a back door, but what are the chances he has figured out that the cave where Baritone and Chubby caught me is also an entry into the mountain? Doubtful. I should continue on because the chances that there are men waiting silently around the next bend for my appearance are rather slim. Just in case, though, I will be feline silent.
I rise from my crouch with a noisy snap of knee joints and listen for another minute. Silence. Putting the pit on my right I carefully step forward, shifting my weight only when I know the foot plant is solid and will not disturb a stone that would skitter away and reveal my presence. Another step . . . again, three . . . four . . . five. All my senses are at high alert, even the touch of air on my skin, the taste on my tongue. And at a totally different plane hovers my psychic sense, antennas fully extended. With all six senses in play I only come up with the conclusion that I am completely and totally alone inside this mountain; not even a couple of bats to make it spookier.
The yawning darkness of the pit behind me, I continue forward at the same, slow, careful pace until suddenly . . .
. . . there is light! I instantly drop to my crouch.
It is not my GPS suddenly popping on. It is coming from ahead. There are indeed men, and they have given up waiting for me to make a sound, assuming, like me, that what they heard was only the mountain. Wow! I was so close to giving myself away. Now I have an advantage. Their light is enough for me to see well, to find a hiding place.
Sure enough, to my left, just above my head is a ledge more than big enough to lie in. As long as their lights remain pointed at the ground, they will not see me. I look elsewhere, but the short of it is, this is my best bet. As quietly as possible I scramble up and into it and make my body as small as possible.
Chapter 52
“This is a waste of time,” a low voice says.
“Quiet!”
It’s the two sentries, Stinky—AKA Jessie, who I saved from Mandi blowing his head apart—and the other one, and I can now smell Stinky. He is the second voice, harsh and whispering. It suddenly occurs to me that the smell is garlic. He must eat it whole and then rub it on his body or in his clothes. Yuk!
“I don’t like this.”
“Shut up!”
“What’s the point? There’s no one in here.”
There is a shuffling noise and then a lower, harsher whisper. “We’re in here because Dan told us to check it out! We do what Dan tells us because he’s the one paying us the big bucks. If you don’t like it, go home to your wife!”
There is a long pause, more shuffling, and then, “Sorry. Wish I had my night goggles.”
“Well you’re the one who forgot his. You hate those things anyway, so shut up!” I hear nothing for a while. The light becomes stronger and then stops. “Do you hear that?” Stinky says.
“Hear what?”
I hold my breath; certain Stinky must hear my breathing, or maybe my banging heart, which I can’t do anything about.
“The water. Inside the cavern on the other side. You know, where the waterfall is. That’s what I’m hearing.”
“Oh.”
“Dan is right. This is taking us there.”
“Oh, yeah!”
I relax and then all of a sudden a ball cap appears, and then another one a few inches lower. I shrink back against the cold rock and nearly gag on the garlic. From my viewpoint I can see them clearly as they near the pit and then stop and shine their flashlight into it; their guns hang loosely from their shoulders. If they were to turn around and point their lights in my direction, there’s a fairly good chance they would see me. All I can do is hide my face and hope my clothes blend with the surroundings. I breathe deep and slow, and pray that they keep going.
Stinky turns away from the pit and takes a couple of steps down the passage. The other, the taller of the two, waits a couple of beats before swinging his flashlight out of the pit. He shines it back up the passage, but below my little rock cubby. I duck my head and in a few seconds hear him clomping away after Stinky. All is well. I relax and breathe normally.
“What’s this?”
I look up. The one who is not Stinky is picking something off the ground. Stinky turns around, looks, and takes it from him. He analyzes it and puts it to his nose. Shit to hell! It’s the wrapper from the energy bar. I thought I put it in my pocket.
“It’s fresh.” Stinky points the flashlight down the passage. “They’ve been here today . . . recently.” The light comes back to his feet. He’s looking at tracks. He steps to the side and carefully walks down the right edge of the passage. The other guy falls in behind, pointing his flashlight here and there. They disappear around the corner.
I remain in place, frozen with indecision. I should jump and run in the opposite direction but I can’t get my legs, my arms, my mind to work. Part of me says to wait for them to get farther away; the other part says they could turn around at any second when they discover there is only one set of tracks, and they’re pointing in the opposite direction. Kaka-boom kaka-boom goes my heart. Don’t just sit here, Reba! Do something!
Kaka-boom kaka-boom.
Make a decision.
Kaka-boom kaka-boom.
No decision is in fact a decision.
Kaka-boom kaka-boom.
Damn it! I scoot to the edge and slide to the passage floor. A new thought comes to me. What if they get down there, to the lake, and somehow spot Sharon or Mandi? They can’t get to them but they could shoot at them.
Kaka-boom kaka-boom. I could make a noise and then let them see me.
I crouch and search for a stone, find only a few pebbles, and then notice another ledge, smaller, just above where they disappeared. And then an idea surfaces from my animal side, like a cog clicking, a shift to a higher level of animal survival, a change from prey to predator—a cat thing I’m sure, though I think about it no more than a split second. In a flash I’m past the pit and up onto the ledge. I turn my face to the ceiling and let out a cry. It rises from deep in my center and escapes into the dark chamber, a sound like that of a predator animal inviting her prey to come play.
This is crazy, Reba!
I agree with myself, this is crazy, but it is like I have no control. The feline side of me carries an instinct for fight that is higher than my human instinct for flight.
Suddenly the glow from their lights flares. Coiled like a spring, muscles taunt, I wait for their return, making only a brief sound that in my ears is not unlike a hiss.
Chapter 53
I do not know what the plan is, or if feline Reba has a plan. I, the human Reba, am a passenger in a body hell bent for fight. I shake in my corner even more as Stinky and his buddy appear below me. My nostrils flare against Stinky’s garlic aroma; how the hell can his buddy stand it?
They stop. “Can you smell that?” Stinky says.
“I can’t smell anything. You know my smeller is broken.” Buddy can’t smell anything. That’s why they’re teamed together. Stinky moves his head to and fro. After a few seconds Buddy says, “What you smelling?”
Stinky whispers. “The caramel from that energy bar. They’re close . . . hiding somewhere.”
How can he smell anything over his own stink?
Stinky slides his weapon off his shoulder. His light bounces about the chamber as he negotiates the gun into a firing position. Buddy remains in place with his weapon still hanging, casting his flashlight about, and checking every dark corner except the one behind and over his head. Stinky turns slowly to look behind him, then suddenly, as though catching something just above his peripheral, raises his eyes up, directly into mine.
He sees my empty hands and recognizes that I am not armed, so fortunately for me, unfortunately for him, he does not swing his weapon toward me. He remembers that I saved his life, his first mistake. He wonders where my friends are and lets his eyes, and his
light, move left and then right. That is his final mistake. It is from the gray area left behind by his light that I, feline Reba, spring from my perch. I land five feet in front of him, roll on my shoulder once and then kick him square in the stomach. There is a “Humph!” and then his finger locks down on the trigger.
The roar from the full second blast of the weapon is followed by a stinging spray of rock and dust, and then Stinky struggling to catch his balance at the edge of the pit. Just before simply falling backwards, he lets loose of his weapon and tries to drop and grab at several rock outcrops. His useless effort bounces him, screaming into the black pit, chasing after his gun. The weapon fires of its own accord one time when it strikes the bottom, followed by a life-ending thud.
The silence hangs with the dust between Buddy and me. Because he was facing away when I made my attack he did not see from where I came, or how I managed to send Stinky to his death. He is now half turned, his eyes big, his face frozen in shock; the flashlight clutched in his hand points over my head. I have the advantage because his weapon hangs uselessly off his shoulder, though I’ve a hunch he’s forgotten that it is there. I’m not concerned about his weapon in any case because I am confident, overly maybe, that I can do with him what I just did with Stinky. The human Reba is feeling guilty at taking a life, however, even if it was in self-defense, so she is not inclined to do it again.
With feline muscles and reflexes still at their peak, I rise from my three-point stance and reach into his mind. “Quick! Hand her your flashlight!” Without hesitation, Buddy reaches it out to me. I almost laugh in his face. I take it and then calmly walk around him and up the passage past my original hiding spot where, just before stepping out of Buddy’s sight, I turn and look back.
“You should have stayed with your wife. Shakespeare would have been a lot more fun. And you shouldn’t have forgotten your night goggles.” With that I leave him alone in the darkness with his thoughts and fears.
Sabre-Toothed Cat Trilogy Page 116