Exile to the Stars (The Alarai Chronicles) (10 page)

No
more than a dot lost in a wasteland of snow, Jeff snaked down an ice-caked
moraine. He picked his way around boulders with head down, resolved only to
find enough strength to take a step and yet another. Seared by sun and
frostbite, the skin on his cheeks had blistered, cracked open and was crusted
with ooze. Picking at bits of food frozen in a stubble beard, Jeff tried to
remember how many days he had been walking. He thought he had pitched the tent
six times.

Something
wasn’t right. He stared at his legs and wondered why they wouldn’t move. He
eventually concluded he had entered a snowfield and they were buried to the
knees. Perched on a boulder, he made the switch from crampons to snowshoes then
thought he might rest for a while longer. It felt so very good just to sit.
When he decided to take a longer break, Jeff was surprised to find that he was
on his feet and walking. Unable to fathom how that had happened, he
concentrated on taking the next step in a world that had constricted to the
patch of snow in front of him.

Dusk
was at hand when a snowshoe caught on an obstruction and he fell forward onto
his face. Breathing heavily, Jeff lay there and debated whether he had tried
hard enough now so that he could rest. On the verge of losing the debate for
the first and final time, Jeff heard a voice in his mind that was both real and
compelling.

“Lift
your head and live. It is not your time to surrender.”

He
gazed around stupidly for a few moments before becoming aware that he lay
sprawled in a copse of trees. Somehow he had inserted himself well into a scrub
forest before a snowshoe snagged a fallen limb. Hope discovered a foundation
and sprang to life. The thought of a fire spurred him to tear at the snowshoe
bindings in his haste to find tinder.

By
nightfall the tent was assembled. He heaped wood onto the fire until it was
roaring, yet it never seemed hot enough. When he could function again, Jeff set
a pot in the coals to heat water. He found one packet of food at the bottom of
the backpack. Fool hens have to be around somewhere, he thought. The memory of
his feast in what seemed like another life set his mouth to watering.

The
water came to a boil and he stirred in the packet of food. When he had scraped
the pot shiny-clean, he sank down on a log near the fire and stared into the
flames. Sometime later Jeff awoke lying on his side.

A
degree of vitality had returned by morning. Holding his hands over new flames,
Jeff attempted to piece together the last six or seven days. He was about to
mark it off as a lost cause when a shot of anxiety hit him. He still had not
seen one feature of the land that was familiar. Jeff felt like yelling with
frustration but was too tired.

“I
don’t care how big an earthquake there was,” he savagely said, “it couldn’t be
big enough to create that mountain chain in one throw. And what about that big
bastard?”

Tired
or not, he couldn’t hold it in. “Screw this place! Screw the goddamed
mountains!” He felt better after that. “What I have to do is keep heading
southwest. There has to be a highway somewhere nearby. Someone must be moving
around by now.”

The
thought of seeing another human set him in motion. Although he felt stronger,
Jeff moved cautiously. He had encountered numerous grouse earlier in his hike,
and there was also the chance he would run across a porcupine. With grouse in
mind, Jeff picked up a stout limb. As the day passed he saw no evidence of
grouse, porcupine or any other game. As fatigue mounted, so did his worry
concerning food.

Jeff
had been following a ravine for some time. While nothing more than a shallow
gully that morning, it had spread out and become deeper during the day. Snow
levels gradually decreased until there was more bare ground than snow, and he
gratefully removed the snowshoes. Trees that had been sparse and short were
growing tall and so thickly that he used the ravine as a natural highway.

The
ravine eventually broadened into a narrow valley that meandered along to the
south. Deep in the valley, Jeff could not see much of the surrounding land
until it abruptly took a sharp turn to the southwest and opened up.

“Now
that is some kind of country,” he breathed.

Viewed
from his perspective in the valley and still at high elevation, mountainous
forestland spread out in a vast wedge. While the scale of the land was
familiar, the scope was not. It faded toward the horizon with no indication
that it would ever end. Jeff gazed around for a spell, enjoying the declining
sun’s warmth, the view, and the return of all the forest smells. He stiffened
and studied the terrain with an eye to detail.

“What
the hell? There’s no sign of an earthquake!”

Forest
cloaked the land, and the only bare rock appeared to be weathered and above the
tree line.

“Not
even logging clear-cuts. Is that possible? And where are the Cascades? There
has to be something left that I can recognize.” Jeff blanked out for a moment.
“This just doesn’t make any sense!”

Whipping
out a topographic map, his eyes flicked back and forth between it and the
terrain.

“Nothing.
Not one bloody landmark matches.” He searched the immediate area. “Shit. Not
even a beer can or scrap of plastic. That is not possible!”

Search
as he might, Jeff discovered no evidence of human presence. Not a smoke column
or vapor trail from a jet, much less a highway. Optimism that had been making a
comeback earlier in the day failed completely. Slumping to the ground, he
stared off across a forest wilderness that truly seemed to have no end. The
wind sighing mournfully through the trees as if to say, “You’re all alone, all
alone,” and the sun neared the horizon, casting long shadows across the land.

The
magnitude of the forest, the scale of the mountains behind him, and the lack of
anything to pin hopes of redemption on threatened to crush him. Taking no note
of the time, Jeff waged a losing battle with a primal sense of desertion.

Just
inside the trees to his right, an indistinct form the size of a pony observed
the slumped-over figure. Motionless as a statue, the form seemed a part of the
forest. In the blink of an eye it was gone.

When
it became dark enough that Jeff could no longer avoid thinking about what he
was going to do for the night, he levered himself upright with his staff and
trudged down the valley. Two or three steps along the way, a mournful howling
came drifting across miles of shadowed forest. Jeff stopped to listen. Although
a powerful song, the eerie wailing nearly overwhelmed him with despair.

It
was hard to see when he noted a ravine opening into the valley. Jeff hiked into
the ravine where he discovered a creek meandering along the base of a rocky
bluff. Snow cover had essentially disappeared, and it took only a few minutes
to set up camp. Extracting cartridges from the Colt, Jeff pulled a scrap of
oil-damp cloth tied to a piece of string through the barrel and cylinder bores.
Reloading, he held the Colt in the palm of his hand to look at it.

“This
is the only thing that stands between me and starving to death. I don’t know
who runs things, but God or whoever, I could use some help.” Testing his small
camping flashlight, he hiked up the ravine.

It
was a dark night but he used the flashlight sparingly to avoid scaring off
game. Happening across what looked like a game trail, Jeff found a seat
cushioned by pine needles and slipped into the spell of silence that was on the
land. Gradually, he became aware of every sound.

In
spite of that awareness, he missed a clinking sound on two occasions. Some
inner sense was more alert and brought him to attention. When he heard it
again, Jeff felt a surge of excitement. That sounds like pebbles rolling down
the hill, he thought, or maybe hooves!

Saliva
pooled in his mouth and his body trembled with anticipation. Shortly he sensed
the presence of a darker, slowly moving mass. Jeff raised the revolver to arm’s
length. He had his finger on the flashlight button when something kicked a rock
loose right behind him with a loud clatter.

“Oh,
God, don’t!”

Jeff
flopped around onto his back and flicked on the flashlight. No more then ten
feet away, a large buck was staring at him with lowered head and setting a hoof
down. Very slowly.

“Jesus!”

Nearly
back to back, two orange spears of light pulsed followed by muzzle blasts that
boomed and echoed in the narrow ravine. The buck shuddered at the first impact,
his head snapped back at the second and he collapsed onto his side. Jeff heard
crashing sounds and caught a brief glimpse of bodies hurtling by. He was
breathing so hard he hyperventilated, and had to lie there to calm down.

“What
the hell was he up to? Something is not right. Oh bullshit! Something is
fucking wrong!” Hunger took over and he grabbed the deer’s antlers.

Dragging
the buck back to camp, Jeff frequently stopped to flash the light around. The
forest seemed empty of life. He arrived exhausted by the pull and deeply
troubled by something he couldn’t put his finger on.

Hastily
building a fire, Jeff crudely skinned a rear leg, hacked out a piece of meat
and held it over the flames on a stick. The smell of roasting venison and the
hiss of fat flaring in the fire drove his hunger to the point of frenzy.
Ripping the charred piece of venison from the stick, he tore off a mouthful.
The meat burned his hands and mouth, his eyes teared up from the pain, but he
crammed more in. Juice and blood ran down his chin and shirt without notice.
Jeff stopped when he was on the verge of throwing up.

With
a full belly for the first time in what seemed to be months, Jeff dozed off
repeatedly. After nearly toppling into the fire he decided it was time to turn
in. He tried to get up but was so tired he collapsed. Giving in to exhaustion,
he crawled to the tent.

In
the small hours of the morning when even night creatures had found their
burrows, a line of ghostly shadows filed through camp. They stopped to sniff
around the tent then faded into the night like a whisper that is not heard.

The
sun was well above the trees when Jeff crawled out of the tent. He felt such a
sense of comfortable well being that he decided to lay over another day. Got to
gather strength and save as much of that deer as I can, he reasoned. Now that I
have food, what’s the hurry? What am I going to do? Lose my job?

The
ground was covered with a thick bed of pine needle duff. It was wet, but from
long habit he had scraped duff well back from the fire pit. Passing the fire
pit on his way to tackle butchering the deer, Jeff stopped abruptly to stare at
the moist earth.

“Oh,
boy. This is not good.”

Stooping,
he spread his hand to cover a paw print. His hand was larger by only a small
amount, and the impression was over an inch deep. Standing up, Jeff continued
to stare at the print.

“Maybe
it could be a dog or wolf print, but whatever made it must be really big and
heavy. With my luck it probably belongs to a mountain lion or small bear.”
Suddenly, Jeff groaned. “Oh, shit! The deer! It must have been after the deer!”

He
ran to where he had left the carcass, maybe thirty yards upstream from camp. It
was untouched, although he noted more prints.

“Now
this simply does not make sense. What carnivore is going to pass up a free
meal?” Jeff reviewed his experience with the buck the former evening, as well
as his observations while trekking down from the snowfields. “None of this
makes any sense. Where the hell am I?”

The
day was getting on and he put his questions aside to attend to business. It was
a great relief to tackle a practical task.

Jeff
had never butchered a large animal although he had seen his grandfather do it,
and cussed under his breath while making a hash of it. His hands and clothing
were caked with old blood by the time he remembered the system. He had no more
than grabbed a rear leg to turn the deer over when he let go.

“That’s
odd. This is not a mule deer. I suppose it could be a white tail, but I didn’t
think there were any in the Cascades.” Jeff examined the deer with an eye to
detail. “No, not even close to the pictures I’ve seen. Ears look like a cat’s,
muzzle’s too broad, and the antlers aren’t right.” Jeff felt the tip of a prong
and let out a startled grunt. “That sucker is sharp!” He stepped back to get a
better perspective.

“Holy
shit. Will you look at that?” Jeff stooped down and picked up a front leg. “That’s
not even a hoof. Three toes plus one hell of a dew claw.” He noticed something
sticking out of the deer’s mouth and dropped onto his heels so he could pry it
open. “I don’t believe this,” Jeff breathed. “This is crazy!”

He
knelt and ran a finger over sharp, conical incisors and the tip of a long
canine tooth. “That’s what I saw last night! That son of a bitch had his teeth
bared!” He jumped to his feet and searched the woods. “He was stalking me.
Maybe they all were!” There was no sign of motion or anything else in the woods
that might suggest a threat, and he resumed butchering.

Although
the task became easier as he learned how to skin, Jeff took no pleasure in it.
He muttered under his breath while searching for an explanation that would tie
together all the discrepancies that had accumulated. As before, nothing came to
mind. By the time he had removed all the venison he could pack, Jeff was
feeling a bit foolish.