The Wall by Jeff Long Page B

only weapon was the headlamp. He thrust the light into Joshua’s eyes. With his hand, he physically shoved the light at him, and it worked for a moment. Joshua staggered, blinded. He cut at the darkness, cut at the light. Hugh peeled the sleeping bag from his legs.
    Absurd, thought Hugh. This couldn’t be happening. There was a manhunt on for this guy. He should have been miles away by now. And Hugh, caught with his pants down, barefoot, in his Fruit Of The Loom underwear, hands taped for the climb.
    “Lewis,” he yelled. Should he run? Upslope or down?
    “She told me what you did to her,” Joshua said.
    The lunatic had strung together a little necklace. Hugh recognized the jade and turquoise and other beads from the girl’s hair. The crazy bastard.
    “Stop,” said Hugh. “You’ve got me. We’ll leave. It’s all yours.”
    The man was an animal. A monster. He thought he owned it all, the forest, the shadows, the stone, the dead souls. Joshua slashed at him again. Hugh flailed with the light beam, flicking at those eyes, whipping at them. He backed against the wall and felt for holds, but it was slick as ice. There was no way he could climb fast enough anyway. The man would hamstring him before he got three feet. Where was Lewis?
    “Take our food,” Hugh said. The bastard had eaten his pear. In mortal danger, and that rankled him still. “Whatever you want, take it.”
    Joshua swelled his chest. He was wheezing. The red lipstick and the grease marked his starved-dog ribs like war paint. “No more running. No more hiding.”
    Joshua scuttled closer, absent his walking stick. Was that what this was about? He fisted the knife, blade down, and raised his arm. Hugh had the presence of mind to note that the blade was made of black obsidian.
    “Bismullah.” Hugh barked it at him, more an urge than a thought. In the name of God.
    Joshua hesitated. The word—the mystery of it, perhaps, or Hugh’s commanding tone—astonished him.
    “What?” Joshua lifted his head, listening, casting around for voices. “What?”
    Dial him into a different reality, thought Hugh. Add another voice to the mix. Scramble his brains. “She was lying there,” Hugh said. The girl. The booty. “I covered her up. We met, you and me. Where’d she go, Joshua?”
    “She’s”—he waved at the air—“out there. Wherever I go.” His haunting bride.
    “Remember me, Joshua?”
    “I know you.”
    “We’re going to be okay. Keep your knife.” Give him assurance. Calm his rage. Then break his legs.
    “You don’t know,” Joshua wailed.
    “Everything will turn out for the best,” Hugh said.
    Joshua rocked in place. “We’re in for it now, boy oh boy. She’s not fooling around.”
    “Where did you put her, Joshua?”
    A dark shape came hurtling from the trees.
    Joshua flew from Hugh’s light. It was like the falcon strike that afternoon, an explosion that was all aftermath. Talus clapped, men grunted.
    Hugh found them with his beam. Lewis was trying to pin down the lunatic. His huge arms wrapped around the emaciated creature.
    “He’s got a knife,” Hugh shouted. He grabbed a rock.
    Lewis let go. He threw the man away from him. Joshua got to his feet. Tracking him with his headlamp, Hugh threw the rock. It landed shy. He threw another. Lewis joined him.
    “Lie down, you dirty bastard,” Lewis yelled at him.
    They kept up a steady volley of stones, mostly missing. Part of Hugh wanted to hold back a little. Gruesome as he was, the man needed help. Medication. A room with rubber walls. But also Hugh wanted to maim him or worse, the jackal.
    A rock clipped Joshua’s shoulder. It stunned him. He fell. On his hands and knees, he pawed at the ground. Hugh threw another rock. With a howl, Joshua galloped into the forest.
    Hugh stabbed around with his headlamp beam, but the trees were ranked like a fortress wall. Joshua had escaped again.
    “You’re dead,” Lewis bellowed at the forest. “You got the curse on you now,