Rise and Walk (8 page)

Crossing the dirt road that continued high into the heart of mountain, he continued until his troubled eyes could see the lake shore. Doubling back towards camp, Clay noticed an older man in a brown tackle vest holding a fishing pole. The man wore a pair of headphones and bobbed his head to the music. Another man with a bad limp approached the unaware fisherman. The stranger looked like a bum in tattered sweats. His face and shirt were soiled with filth. Clay watched confused as the bedraggled man lurched with what he perceived to be much effort towards the fisherman. He heard a fierce growl erupt from the stranger as he fell upon the fisherman. Stunned, Clay watched the man grab the fisherman and bite his arm high on the bicep. Clay dropped the duffle bag without thinking and ran to help.

The stranger sprawled out on top of the poor struggling fisherman. Strained cries emanated from the elderly victim. His silver white hair became stained with dark red blood. His wounded arm hung across his face in a defensive cover. The stranger bit back down on the fisherman’s arm, puncturing the tricep. The fisherman emitted a heartbreaking cry for mercy. Clay entered the fray fast. Grabbing the stranger’s shoulders from behind, Clay tore him off the battered old man. Pinning the stranger to the ground with one hand he lifted his other hand high in the air to strike.

What Clay saw sent tremors of horror through his body. The stranger looked like an escapee from hell. He wasn’t covered with filth, he was covered with blood. Caked and coagulated stains surrounded the stranger’s mouth like a madman at an all you can eat rib house. His breath reminded Clay of the time a rat had died in his garage but no one knew where. A distinct smell of decay that grows over time getting worse and worse until it is strong enough to locate. The stranger’s torso was covered with sticky blood slime, so much so that Clay’s hand slipped off the stranger’s neck. The blood encrusted specter lifted its arm around Clay as he fell, pulling him towards blood stained teeth. Clay fought with all of his strength to push off the ground, away from the maul of snapping jaws. A cold stink washed over his neck as the creature breathed out. Clay’s arms shivered with fatigue, his hands dug into the soft earth as he tried to force himself away from the lunatic. The thing’s teeth found Clay’s Adams apple, crushing down awash in blood and flesh. The terror and pain coursed through Clay’s body releasing a full jolt of adrenalin allowing him a momentary burst of near super human strength. Clay pushed off the ground leaving a part of himself in the stranger’s mouth.

Clay instinctively put his dirt covered hand to his neck. He screamed in agony but heard nothing. He ran away, towards the campground. The pain was incredible but he was still mobile. He tried to apply pressure to stop the bleeding but the action made him choke. The dirt transferring from his hand smeared over his slimy wound creating a disgusting mush. He felt air blow across his hand as he tried to scream. He inhaled hard yet could get little air. He coughed but nothing came out of his mouth. Chunky slime shot onto the hand that he held to his throat. It was all coming out of his neck. He bent over as he ran and found that he could gain a little more air while doubled over. The blood flowed over his hand and down into the dirt instead of going into his lungs. Looking back through tear clouded eyes; he saw that no one was following. He used what little strength he had left to scale a small grade and gain more distance from his assailant. Clay struggled for breath. The gash in his neck started to swell from the injury. His torn air passage began to shrink from the trauma. The neck was bleeding but it wasn’t squirting out in jets like in the movies. His run had slowed to a weak stumble. Each step was becoming more difficult. If he could catch his breath he could start again.
Just a little rest
he thought as he slammed to the ground. He slid an arm under his chest to prop his body up as he lay face down in the dirt. He had to let his neck bleed downwards to keep his air passages as clear as possible.

A horrible feeling descended on Clay.
This is one of those things that can’t be undone
. Like when he was a kid and he broke his arm climbing a tree. He remembered how he thought then; if
he had only gone swimming instead of climbing the tree, he wouldn’t have broken his arm
. Lying in the dirt now, he thought to himself that
he should have went and got the sheriff or something
. He shouldn’t have gotten involved. He struggled against his narrowing airway for breath. Pain and exhaustion overwhelmed his senses. A sad, high pitched sound whimpered from the hole in his trachea as Clay lost consciousness.

TWELVE

Jack Mason entered the Paintball registration area as calmly as he could. He was attempting to suppress his anger at the results of the contest. Andy Walters noticed Mason enter and was about to offer a consoling word. He studied Mason’s expression of controlled anger and decided that it might be best to keep his mouth shut. Mason passed Andy without a word. He didn’t believe that Andy had anything to do with the treachery on the field but this was his neck of the woods.
The man should run a better shop
, he thought. Mason spied Tony standing next to an old Volkswagen Mini Camper with its engine idling on the camp road. Mason stepped off the deck of the registration area and double checked the safety on his weapon. He was always careful with his dangerous gear around the public. Nearing his friend, he heard the last bit of conversation.

“Yeah, right across the dude’s neck,” Tony said smiling.

Tony was talking to Billy through the passenger’s window. Gabe sat in the driver’s seat with Travis sprawled out in the back. Billy was the first to acknowledge Jack.

“There he is,” said Billy. Tony turned to Jack allowing him space to see in the van’s open window.

“The reporter from Warpaint magazine took a picture of the guy with the mark on his throat. You should have seen the look on the dude’s face. He said he’d never heard of anything like that before,” Tony said trying in his own way to help Jack look on the bright side of things. Jack faked a half hearted smile.

“We’re heading down into town to see if we can’t catch the Raiders game,” said Gabe loudly, his voice struggling over the rapid coughs of the air cooled Volkswagen.

“Yeah, where at?” Jack asked.

“Don’t know, they gotta have a bar or something down there,” replied Gabe. Tony, bored with conversational pleasantries, caught a glimpse of blondee hair in his peripheral vision and turned to watch Nikki move about the registration area. He straightened his posture and pulled his shoulders back.
Notice me chick
, he thought.

“Cool,” Jack answered leaning his arms in the window. “We’re gonna do some riding later on.” Travis stirred in the back seat making an attempt to find a more comfortable position.

“Are you gonna live?” Jack asked. Travis mumbled an affirmative sound.

“Did you get your prize checks?” asked Billy looking at Jack.

“No, I’ll do that later. I want to get away from that Warpaint reporter before he starts bugging me for the story.”

“Well, sorry about the loss, but something was up on that field,” Gabe offered.

“Yeah, I know. What can you do?” Jack asked with quiet resolve. He backed away a step as the van drove off.

Jack took note of his distracted friend. He turned to see where Tony was looking. The nice looking blondee was talking to Andy. Jack watched how she laughed and touched Andy in a clever but contrived flirtation. Jack could acknowledge that she had a nice figure however there was something about her that didn’t interest him.

“Dude, she’s twelve,” laughed Jack. Tony maintained his gaze on the little cutie. He liked the shape of her tight jeans and the mystery of what might be within.

“Nah, you have to be eighteen to sell beer to the public,” Tony thought out loud, “She has got to be twenty.”

“Yeah, well you’re thirty my friend, ten years is a big difference. Eight years, that might work, but ten, not a chance,” Jack said turning to start off towards their camp. Tony began to follow.

“Ten years is nothing.”

Jack stopped and let Tony catch up. He looked at Tony’s head just behind the ear. Tony stopped and put a hand up to protect his bruise.

“You sure you don’t have a concussion?” Jack teased.

THIRTEEN

Ranger Jess Watkins’ lower back was damn sore. He had been driving his Ram Charger up the rutted mountain pass for the past three hours. The dirt road was wide enough for Bureau of Land Management earth movers to access the mountain to maintain the surface. The last grading of the roads had taken place five years ago due to spending cuts. The constant jostling of the neglected dirt road drummed on his spine like a jackhammer. Today was supposed to be his day off. Recent budget cuts had left Watkins the only park ranger for this part of the range. His partner would normally be on today but he had been reassigned to Death Valley last month. His superiors knew that Watkins had only five months of service left before retirement so they gave his protests little consideration. When he did retire, they would send in some new recruits at a lower pay rate, but for now, the twenty four year veteran of the Department of the Interior was on his own.

The large patrol vehicle turned left off the mining road and pulled in front of a small shack. Watkins sighed as he looked at the well built building. It was a mining shack that once belonged to one of the families from town. He couldn’t remember their name but they were the last to still hold an official mining claim on the land. The family didn’t own the land but they had the rights to any ore they found in the area. In the eighties an heir to the claim had come and dug out large parts of the surrounding hills in search of riches. It was the man’s right to do so. The careless mining had left ugly scars in the scenery that broke the good Ranger’s heart. The man never found gold in his search. Professor Galloway from the Whisper campus discovered the exposed areas of earth on a week long hike and had been using the area as a teaching resource for the past five years. The Professor was a good man and he sure knew his geology. Watkins was gladdened that some good had come from the unsightly greed-inspired excavations in his mountain.

Watkins picked up his hand microphone and clicked the send button.

“City dispatch, this is Ranger Watkins, Come in?”

The radio was set to the Whisper police frequency. They were the only officials who could receive a signal this high in the mountain, through signal repeaters.

“Dispatch. Five by five, Jess. Have you found them?” The radio squawked. It was Annie, the sweet dispatcher from town.

“I’m at the shack near the mouth to the valley, nothing to report yet. Radio gets bad from here out so I wanted to let you know.”

“Okay Jess, how long should we expect?”

“Well, lets say an hour to get there and maybe 20 minutes to shoot the breeze with the Professor and see what’s up, then an hour back to radio range. I’d say if you don’t hear from me in a few hours, send back up,” Watkins said while adjusting himself in his well worn seat.

“Ten-Four, we appreciate your help on this one. We got a few worried parents who would like to know where their kids are.”

“No problem, it’s my job.” He thought a moment and wiped at his brow. “If you do have to send someone, make sure they are in a vehicle with some clearance. A patrol car would never make it on these roads.”

“Affirmative, Jess, good luck,” said Annie over the low fidelity speaker.

Ranger Watkins engaged the motor and drove into the forest on a barely perceptible trail.

“Let’s keep an eye out for some little brats,” he said aloud, amusing himself. Professor Galloway and his charges were due back last night but by morning they had yet to show. Parents called the college who called the police who then called Watkins. They most likely had trouble with their vehicle and had to stay out an extra night without supplies. The Professor was no tenderfoot; he knew the land and would keep the students sheltered and safe. As a precaution Watkins brought with him ten gallons of gas, a five gallon bottle of spring water from the Ranger station and box of Meals Ready to Eat, provided by his employer.
Kids get a kick out of eating MREs
, he thought. He had boxes of the self contained meals issued to his office for disaster relief, compliments of the US government. They tasted like crap if you ate them too often, which Watkins did, but the kids sure did think they were neat.

The drive was long. Watkins knew where the Professor would set up camp. A large dynamited area within the valley that showed the stratifications of rock that the Professor was so fond of. “It is like looking back through the corridors of time”, he would say. Watkins slowed the vehicle and adjusted his gun belt. He had left his .357 magnum in his desk under lock and key, opting instead to carry a lighter, more compact nine millimeter. His back had been giving him trouble lately and he knew the bumpy drive would be murder, so he decided to make every accommodation that he could. He felt there was no need to carry heavy iron to help out some co-eds. He would show up and give Galloway some gas, feed the kids and be back at the station to catch the Raiders lose yet another game in the final quarter.
No big deal
.

Up ahead was the camp. He could see it was a mess;
College age Tom-foolery perhaps
. He had warned Galloway that the students had to clean up their messes when they came out here. Parking next to the large school bus that belonged to the college, he honked his horn three times to get their attention. He heaved his large body from the driver’s seat and felt the miles still rumbling through his lumbar vertebrae. The sun was hot outside of his air conditioned vehicle. Removing his light jacket and leaving it on the seat he realized how glad he was that he chose not to wear his issue bullet resistant vest.
There was no need for that kind of protection on a milk run like this
, he thought. The burden of a vest would have only added to his spinal discomfort. Working through the stiffness of a long drive, he made his way to the rear of the vehicle. He heard the sound of many feet approaching.
Poor devils
, he thought as he opened the tailgate,
they must be hungry
. He reached in and slid the case of MREs closer so that he could distribute the food. As he opened the case, he caught a glimpse of a young woman dressed in a cheerleader outfit.
How cute
, he thought,
she must be proud of making the squad
.