A Forest of Corpses (22 page)

Moving was like plowing through neck deep water. I was going nowhere at a dead crawl. The buzzing increased to a roar. I half stood, bracing against a resin-covered tree trunk and threw myself past the screen of branches into daylight—

And awoke seconds before I tumbled off my tree limb.

Wildly I clutched it, pressing my face against the rough bark, scraping my already raw skin. I was hyperventilating, and had to force myself to breath shallowly, until the panic attack subsided.

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A dream. It had only been a dream. Several insects buzzed around my head, clearly the source of the sound in my nightmare. I batted at them, then had to catch myself a second time to stop from falling. Nearby birds were beginning to awaken. I couldn't see any lightening of the sky, but knew it must be coming soon.

With stiff muscles I scrambled to the ground, bending and stretching to loosen my limbs up. I glanced toward my planned route and saw it was mostly uphill. It would be a hard slog, but I knew I was in good shape. Unlike the sedentary Alex, I spent several hours a week keeping fit. I did it for Alex and for myself, since I always wanted to be at my best for him. And now it was going to pay off for both of us.

I made my careful way out onto the trail, keeping an eye out for bear sign, and always alert for the human menace that stalked these woods. I would have even welcomed the dog's return, but he was evidently long gone. Hopefully, he hadn't had a run in with the bear and her cub. I trusted that he knew better.

Over an hour later I came across my first bear scat of the day. Fresh. It was scary how fresh. In the growing daylight I could make out some dense black hairs and scuff marks that the large pawed animals made, as they bulled their way through dense brush. Common sense told me to go the other way, to put as much distance as possible between me and the she bear. But common sense wasn't going to help Alex or me out of this mess.

I was beginning to think only luck, and maybe God, was going to do that.

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I was in the middle of another captive nightmare. Was I even capable of having a rational thought anymore? A pig was hunting me this time. The snuffling and snorting form hovered on the edge of my reality, which was stretched very thin. Was it drawn by my blood? The sound of my hoarse breathing? Could it hear my heart laboring in my chest, every pulse sending waves of pain through every nerve ending in my dying body?

I knew pigs ate flesh. There had been a couple of well-known cases where killers had used that nasty fact to dispose of unwanted corpses. Would a death by animal attack be a swifter, more merciful one than what I knew faced me if I died from sepsis and the fever that raged in me, burning up my brain and my sanity?

It was harder and harder to force my mind to focus beyond the pain and delirium that was a constant presence now. My open wounds were crawling with flies but I was beyond trying to drive them away. It took too much energy and it didn't stop them.

The pig got closer. Was it my imagination or could I feel its hot, fetid breath on my oversensitive skin? Coarse bristles rubbing against my head? I knew it was beside me even before a warm, wet nose nuzzled at my face, exhaling on me seconds before a tongue came out and slopped over my mouth and nose. Then it whimpered.

Whimpered?

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I opened my eyes. Instead of a nightmare creature about to chew me apart, I was looking up the nose of a worried looking dog. The German Shepherd. The one Jason and I had seen in the trailhead where we had parked the truck. The one we had heard barking just days before I found its master's dead body.

The dog whimpered again and gently nosed my cheek.

Warm, doggy breath blew over me. When I uncurled the fingers of one hand, the dog licked it, then rubbed its massive head against my fingers. Wanting to be petted?

"Good boy," I managed to say.

The dog wagged its tail.

"Too bad you're not Lassie," I croaked through a throat so dry it hurt to talk or swallow. "I could send you to get help.

Timmy's down the well, grandpa."

I started laughing, knowing it was hysteria, but still not able to stop. Fortunately, my laughter was little more than a whisper. The dog heard it, and tentatively nosed my cheek again as though it wanted to understand.

There was a crash and muffled Spanish curse moments later. The dog flattened beside me and a low rumble came out of it. The Shepherd was growling, its ear pressed flat against its broad head. I guess it didn't like our neighborhood pot growers, either.

"No, Timmy, huh?" I whispered as shivers took control of my body and I started convulsing, gasping for breath as my chest spasmed in a desperate attempt to pull in air.

My eyes were open, but my vision was fading. Soon, the dog was little more than a black and tan blur with only 210

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darkness beyond it. At the same time the voices in my head grew in volume and persistence. The screaming partygoers were back, joining with animals roaring and something inhuman screaming.

I was only vaguely aware of a weight settling beside me, pressing against my chest, calming the violent tremors and bringing a strange peace to me. If I was going to die out here at least I wouldn't be alone.

* * * *

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I was making good time. Between my grim determination and my previous exposure to these trails, I ate up the distance between us. I stopped only long enough to drink when I came across a water outlet. I refused to think that I might be too late. That I would find Alex beyond hope or already dead. That would be unbearable. Alex was my life.

Maybe that sounds pathetic, to live through another person so completely, but I couldn't imagine life without him. If that meant facing his killers and following him into death then I wouldn't go down lightly. I would make them pay for what they had done to us.

It was weird, but I found myself missing the dog. I had been glad when he came back and was still there the next morning, but then sometime during the day he had wandered off. He'd done that before and always came back. This time he didn't. The next morning he still hadn't returned and I had to write him off. Too bad. I hoped he would be okay. I couldn't waste any time fretting over him.

Right now I had to find that bear and her cub. Once I'd located her, maybe I could set the next step into motion. That was just as dangerous as tracking down the two of them and risking the sow's wrath. I had to find an armed killer and trick him into following me without getting myself killed outright.

My stomach growled. I dug through my backpack pulling one of the dozen energy bars out, unwrapped it and chewed while I walked. Out of pure reflex I shoved the wrapper in the 212

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side pocket of my pack. My fingers closed over the other things I'd stuffed in there over the course of our hike. I was religious about "carry-in-carry-out" and never left even a single scrap behind when I walked out at the end of a hiking trip.

So I had four days worth of garbage in my backpack.

Bears love garbage almost as much as they love honey.

That's why they were such a major issue around campsites that didn't have diligent clean up, or kept open garbage sites close to people.

Just maybe I had what I needed to bring that bear where I wanted her.

I emptied my pockets and backpack. I had thirteen energy bars, three vacuum-sealed bags of dried fruit and one of jerky. Alex had a similar stash with him. I had wanted to make sure we would have enough no matter what are circumstances, though for sure I hadn't foreseen
this
.

I hiked on with renewed drive. I had to find that bear.

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I knew I wasn't going to live through another night.

Sleep fell away from me slowly. For one brief second before I opened my eyes and tried to move, I thought I was home, in bed. Jason's warm body pressed against mine and I felt a peace I don't think I have ever achieved at any time in my life. I was happy. Up until now I hadn't known what that felt like. I'd been going through life all this time operating on instinct, with no drive beyond my job and solving other people's problems, never solving my own. I had let the dead from my past crowd out unwanted intimacy because it was a hell of a lot easier to pick up some trick at The Vault, fuck him for a few hours then send him on his way, than to face the fact that my life was so fucking empty.

Now I had found someone to fill it, and I had let it slip away because I was afraid. For one hot, delusional second I wanted to believe Jason was here with me so I could tell him that. Admit I was afraid. Just once tell another human being I felt fear. And find out that it wouldn't make me less of a man to him. Because I knew now Jason loved me with or without weaknesses. My flaws meant nothing to him.

The illusion lasted until I tried to roll over and take him in my arms. A bolt of pure agony slammed through me. I bit my tongue as I screamed. It came out as a grunt, and my mouth flooded with hot, metallic blood.

Jason whimpered and I realized it wasn't my lover, but the dog. He had stayed with me through the night. His warm 214

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tongue bathed my face, his touch oddly soothing on my fevered skin. My lips were cracked and the blood in my mouth stung them. I was beyond thirst. Not that it would matter much. I'd be dead from the poison in my blood long before dehydration became an issue.

I drifted in and out of awareness. It was easy to welcome the darkness with its lack of pain. Despair ate at me. I fought it with the same savagery I used to bring justice to my dead people. Wave after wave of pain and heat poured through me.

It would be a lot easier just to stop fighting. Part of me wanted to. I wouldn't see Jason again. He was gone from my life, and maybe he'd be better off for it. I knew he'd survive just fine. My Jason was strong.

Stronger than me. And that was an admission I didn't like one bit. I was supposed to be the unbreakable one. The tough cop who took down killers and rapists and didn't let things like soft emotions interfere with any of that. So why was I lying here in my own piss and blood, dying like a slum dog kicked one too many times?

Speaking of dogs...I reached out to touch the one who had watched over me all night long. The space beside me was empty. He was gone. I guess his protective duties were over.

Maybe that should tell me something.

That thought galvanized me. I wasn't going to let a gut shot stop me. Like I told Jason, it was a flesh wound. I refused to admit anything else. I could overcome this if I was strong enough. And if I couldn't do it for myself, I could sure as hell do it for Jason.

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In my fevered state, I realized something. I wanted Jason safe above all else. More than my own life. When the hell had that happened? Shaking violently, I pulled myself onto my stomach. If I lay here it would mean I had given up and was waiting to die. And that was so fucking wrong. I had never been a quitter. I wasn't going to start now. My fingers throbbed, the nails torn off earlier. My elbows were raw from scraping across the ground. I ignored the pain that was now so ubiquitous I couldn't remember a time I hadn't been in agony.

I couldn't remember the touch of rain on my face, of sun-warmed air stroking bare skin. The feel of Jason's mouth on me, bringing me more pleasure than any other person had.

And what did he ask of me? My possession of him. Totally and without doubt. I was full of doubt. It had poisoned what I had with him. I had no one to blame but myself. Jason had always been there for me, so why couldn't I be there for him?

I would have snorted if the effort wouldn't have cost so much. Fine thing to be thinking about how I had failed Jason, when I was past being able to do anything about it. Would I change that if I could? Don't be a fool, of course I wouldn't. I had too much invested in maintaining my image. I couldn't surrender that for anything.

My lower body was no longer responding to me. On the one hand that meant there was no pain, on the other hand, it meant I couldn't even crawl. I could pull myself along, but with my strength failing fast, I wasn't getting very far.

How many days had it taken us to reach this spot? That was on two legs, with a brain that worked. I'd been slow. I 216

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knew it, even though I also knew Jason would never in a million years have told me that. Another thing we didn't share. Jason would walk on fire to keep from bruising my ego.

I expected him to take whatever I dished out—bad-temper, work frustrations, my ingrained cynicism—without giving it back in kind. I wouldn't have taken that kind of insubordination, not even from him.

For the very first time in my life I wished there was indeed something after death. I wanted one more chance to get it right with Jason. Maybe if I couldn't do it in life, I could do it in death.

Enough. Stop the fucking pity-fest. Move or die.

I'd like to think I had adjusted to the pain, but who was I kidding? I didn't notice it as much because most of my body was no longer feeling anything.

I dragged myself forward, one inch at a time. I refused to think about how futile it was. I was miles from anything except the men who had tried to kill me. Not exactly people I wanted to interact with.

But I could be stubborn. Jason would have agreed, probably with that smug grin he gave me as though he knew something he wasn't sharing.