an owl in the distance. I hated to break their moment. To break them.
But my hesitation lasted only an instant, and then I was launched, barreling down out of the brush, the shock of surprise still fresh in her eyes as I crossed the fire, stepped over his crossed legs and grabbed her by the shoulders dragging her backwards out of harm’s way.
Harm came from the other direction, and drove a long knife through the boy’s back before he was even partway to his feet. I caught the bloody glimmer of its tip parting the kid’s chest and shirt just before he toppled forward into the flames, the haft projecting from his back as if he were a newly pinned moth.
The girl screamed.
I couldn’t blame her. The man she loved was shuddering spasmodically in the middle of the romantic fire they’d shared moments before. And a madman was now lifting her from my grasp to hold her upright in front of him, eyes aflame with a look I knew only too well, but one that must have scared the fight right out of her. She released her bladder, in any case, and I stepped back from the puddle at her feet.
“Do exactly as I say, and you’ll survive the night,” Rick announced. He had a growl to his voice like a chainsaw trying to be coy.
“Who…why…” she stammered.
“I’m Rick, and because I wanted to,” he said. “Now sit down and be quiet.”
We tied her hands behind her back, and then I dragged the boy’s body out of the fire and into the darkness. It was beginning to smell deliciously cooked, and I didn’t want the temptation.
“Get my knife,” Rick called as I pulled the dead boy out of sight.
Her name was Annabel, and she and her boyfriend had been on their own expedition.
“Where the hell were you going out here in the middle of God-fucking-nowhere?” Rick asked and her lips drew taut and thin.
When she remained silent, I raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Got any food left?” Rick asked, already up and moving towards their tent.
She didn’t answer. This one didn’t say much, something that made me feel better. She’d live longer. After splitting the remains of a stew Rick found still warm in an old covered pot inside, he disappeared with Annabel into the tent.
“Gimme 20,” he said, and winked.
I gave him an hour, but I’m not sure that he needed it. I didn’t hear a sound besides the occasional pop of the wood beneath the flames.
She was a quiet one.
4. The Upward Spiral
The next morning we broke camp at dawn, taking anything that looked useful and throwing it into a couple of canvas bags. Annabel asked me to carry a backpack with her things, and little more was said as we filed back through the grasslands to the wreck of the road, and then on a mile or two farther to the car. For a moment or two, I panicked that it would be gone, and we’d walk for hours down this road without finding it, but then when I saw it in the distance, I began to worry about getting it started again.
It started and three hours later we were far from the latest in Rick’s long string of murders.
We were also at the end of the line.
I shoved the gear into park, killed the engine, and the three of us stared out the pitted and bug-stained glass at the spectacle ahead.
The asphalt of the road itself had disappeared some time ago, but a faint path of grey continued to lead through the almost equally grey parched and empty landscape. It was as if we’d entered a valley of the moon; the earth all around was chalky and dead, its surface featured only with boulders and stones. It was arid and alien, this wasteland, but for miles and miles, a faint path had continued on, leading ever upward, as the ground around us dropped off, and the path in front drew ever closer to the dark shadow of a single rocky spire.
Mountains do not simply burst into ascension; they sort of grow, slowly, the earth gently rising until at one point you say to yourself; hey, I’m halfway up a
But my hesitation lasted only an instant, and then I was launched, barreling down out of the brush, the shock of surprise still fresh in her eyes as I crossed the fire, stepped over his crossed legs and grabbed her by the shoulders dragging her backwards out of harm’s way.
Harm came from the other direction, and drove a long knife through the boy’s back before he was even partway to his feet. I caught the bloody glimmer of its tip parting the kid’s chest and shirt just before he toppled forward into the flames, the haft projecting from his back as if he were a newly pinned moth.
The girl screamed.
I couldn’t blame her. The man she loved was shuddering spasmodically in the middle of the romantic fire they’d shared moments before. And a madman was now lifting her from my grasp to hold her upright in front of him, eyes aflame with a look I knew only too well, but one that must have scared the fight right out of her. She released her bladder, in any case, and I stepped back from the puddle at her feet.
“Do exactly as I say, and you’ll survive the night,” Rick announced. He had a growl to his voice like a chainsaw trying to be coy.
“Who…why…” she stammered.
“I’m Rick, and because I wanted to,” he said. “Now sit down and be quiet.”
We tied her hands behind her back, and then I dragged the boy’s body out of the fire and into the darkness. It was beginning to smell deliciously cooked, and I didn’t want the temptation.
“Get my knife,” Rick called as I pulled the dead boy out of sight.
Her name was Annabel, and she and her boyfriend had been on their own expedition.
“Where the hell were you going out here in the middle of God-fucking-nowhere?” Rick asked and her lips drew taut and thin.
When she remained silent, I raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Got any food left?” Rick asked, already up and moving towards their tent.
She didn’t answer. This one didn’t say much, something that made me feel better. She’d live longer. After splitting the remains of a stew Rick found still warm in an old covered pot inside, he disappeared with Annabel into the tent.
“Gimme 20,” he said, and winked.
I gave him an hour, but I’m not sure that he needed it. I didn’t hear a sound besides the occasional pop of the wood beneath the flames.
She was a quiet one.
4. The Upward Spiral
The next morning we broke camp at dawn, taking anything that looked useful and throwing it into a couple of canvas bags. Annabel asked me to carry a backpack with her things, and little more was said as we filed back through the grasslands to the wreck of the road, and then on a mile or two farther to the car. For a moment or two, I panicked that it would be gone, and we’d walk for hours down this road without finding it, but then when I saw it in the distance, I began to worry about getting it started again.
It started and three hours later we were far from the latest in Rick’s long string of murders.
We were also at the end of the line.
I shoved the gear into park, killed the engine, and the three of us stared out the pitted and bug-stained glass at the spectacle ahead.
The asphalt of the road itself had disappeared some time ago, but a faint path of grey continued to lead through the almost equally grey parched and empty landscape. It was as if we’d entered a valley of the moon; the earth all around was chalky and dead, its surface featured only with boulders and stones. It was arid and alien, this wasteland, but for miles and miles, a faint path had continued on, leading ever upward, as the ground around us dropped off, and the path in front drew ever closer to the dark shadow of a single rocky spire.
Mountains do not simply burst into ascension; they sort of grow, slowly, the earth gently rising until at one point you say to yourself; hey, I’m halfway up a
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