Hunted Past Reason (10 page)

"I had the opportunities. I didn't take them," Bob answered.

"Jesus," Doug said. "Assuming that you're telling the truth, you must have gone spiritual at a damned early age."

"It has nothing to do with being spiritual," Bob said. "It's a matter of loyalty. Respect."

"Yeah. I suppose," Doug responded. He made an amused sound. "I guess you know it was my catting around that made Nicole divorce me."

"Well, I—"

"Also because my career was going down the toilet, of course," Doug said bitterly. "I wasn't making enough money for the bitch."

Bob winced. So much for Doug's insight, he thought. I want to go to sleep, not listen to this.

"Ever think about going to bed with a man?" Doug asked.

Bob stiffened. Oh, my Christ, he thought.

Doug seemed to know what he was feeling because he snickered and patted Bob on the shoulder. "Relax," he said, "I didn't bring you all the way up here just to make a move on you."

Bob's breath shook before he could answer. "Glad to hear it," he muttered.

"Well, I saw how uptight you were before when I was bathing and I thought maybe it was a problem for you."

"No." Bob wished his voice didn't sound so faint. What the hell brought all this on? he wondered.

"I did it a few times when I was about twenty," Doug said casually. "Then I decided that I liked pussy a hell of a lot more."

Bully for you, Bob thought.

"Well . . ." Doug clucked. "We'd better get some sleep. Here."

Bob twitched as something landed on his chest. Opening his eyes, he saw that it was an energy bar.

"I already brushed my teeth," he said.

"Eat it anyway," Doug told him. "Help to keep you warm."

Bob grunted, then, obediently, ate the energy bar, visualizing the nuts and peanut butter in between his teeth all night. He'd get out of the sleeping bag and out of the tent and brush his teeth again if he wasn't so tired.

"Here," Doug said.

He took what Doug was holding out: a twig. "More protein?" he said.

"No,"
Doug said as though Bob really thought that. "Clean your teeth with it."

"Oh, yeah."

"Well, good night," Doug said, closing his eyes and sighing. "Long day tomorrow," he added.

Bob made a face, crossing his eyes. Looking forward to it, an insincere voice remarked in his head.

10:31 PM

Good God, he thought. He would have sworn that, by now, he'd be sleeping like a dead man. Conversation before with Doug had seemed in doubt because of his exhaustion. Now Doug was asleep, it was quiet, and here he was still awake.

Quiet? he thought. It sounded as though half the wildlife in the forest was prowling around— in search of food no doubt. He saw now the value of Doug suspending their food from that limb. At one point, he heard something clawing at, he assumed, the trunk of the tree the food was hanging from. What had it been? A raccoon, he hoped, not a grizzly bear. No, Doug had said there were no grizzly bears in this area. Black bears though. Their claws and teeth were just as rending as those of a grizzly. He'd lain in rigid silence, trusting that the creature, whatever it was, would get discouraged presently and move on, which it did.

Little noises persisted though. Crackling, snapping, gnawing sounds. Mice? He hoped so. He visualized them crawling in and out of his backpack pockets, scavenging for food. Well, it's their territory, he told himself. We're the interlopers. It didn't help to alleviate his uneasiness.

But it was more than prowling critters that kept him awake; he was well aware of that. His side ached. He'd taken a Tylenol for that— and for his scraped palm that seemed to alternate between itching and hurting. He didn't dare scratch it though; that would only make it worse. And he
was
extremely tired. His entire body seemed to ache, mostly his legs. I need to rest! he thought in angry desperation. Why
couldn't
he?

Two reasons, his mind told him, one physical, one mental— or was it emotional? It could very well be.

First of all, he wasn't sure that, physically, he was going to manage this hike. It was only the end of the first day and already he felt as though he'd gone through a round with Mike Tyson. What if he, literally, conked out before the hike was completed? Hell, before it was half completed? What could he do, ask Doug to carry him to the cabin? Sure, absolutely.

And yet they couldn't go back. What good would that do? So they made the spot where they'd started out. Then what? Wait for a car to pick them up? It was October. Traffic was not likely to be too heavy. They'd seen one car after they'd reached the park.

Anyway, he couldn't bear the thought of how Doug would look at him if he quit now.

Doug.

That was the second thing, of course, and more than arguably the worst one.

To be honest with himself— and he was trying to be— he wasn't sure about Doug. He was pretty rough on me today, he thought. Endless little digs and criticisms, all unnecessary. Bob had made it clear from the start that he was uneasy about the hike. He wanted to do it very much, he'd made that clear too. It would make his novel more authentic if he'd taken a backpack trip personally. But uneasy? Yes, he was. Not a problem, Doug had assured him. They'd take it easy, be in no rush. It wouldn't be that difficult.

No rush? he thought. Then why had Doug left him alone to hurry on and get the campsite ready? He must have known— he must have— that it would be unnerving for him. But he'd done it anyway. And, by God, it
had
been unnerving. An arrow made of stones? How the hell did Doug expect him to see that in the shadowy gloom of the forest?

But it was more than that, again of course. It was Doug's personality. They'd never spent more than a day or two together— and that always in the company of Nicole and Marian.

Three days— possibly four alone with Doug? He realized that he didn't know Doug well at all. And there had been hints— more than hints— clear signs— of aspects in Doug's behavior that, frankly, made him nervous. What, actually, was going on in Doug's head? That he was embittered had become more than clear. He'd always known that Doug had felt frustrated about the lack of real success in his acting career.

Now he realized— he'd only suspected it before— that Doug was also bitter about his divorce from Nicole. Even though Nicole had had every reason to divorce him because of Doug's— openly admitted— numerous infidelities. He knew that Doug had a pretty shaky relationship with his daughter. And as for Artie . . . Well, he hoped the subject never came up again.

Did Doug resent him? Clearly, his words had made it obvious that Doug envied him. But was the envy verging on the border of dislike, perhaps intense dislike? Why had Doug brought up the idea of him being lucky because of his career, his marriage, his parenthood? Why call it luck? He'd earned it with hard work and dedication. Goddamn it, he thought, was Doug going to make the next three days a penance for him? Doug had all the trump cards in his hand. He could make the entire hike a nightmare if he chose to— and all in the name of being Bob's "guide and protector."

He was aware of how knotted his stomach muscles felt. God
damn
it, he wished he could take a Valium.

Then reaction set in. Don't be so damn melodramatic, he told himself. So Doug might be a pain in the ass for a few days. Period. By the end of the week, he and Marian would be home with all this angst forgotten. End of story.

It seemed to help. He closed his eyes and started to use fractional hypnosis on himself, starting with his stomach muscles. Your stomach muscles are relaxed, relaxed. All tension gone. Relaxed. Relaxed.

Just before he drifted into sleep, he heard the distant howling of a coyote. The wilderness speaking, he thought with a faint smile.
Canis latrans
, he remembered reading somewhere. "Barking dog."

Darkness soon enveloped him.

7:01 AM

It was an odd sensation.

He knew he was asleep but he could hear the bedroom door opening and knew, somehow, that it was Marian. Even more odd was his awareness that she was carrying a breakfast tray for him— freshly squeezed orange juice, crisp bacon and eggs, a well-toasted English muffin, and freshly brewed coffee. He could actually smell the amalgam of delicious aromas.

Then she was beside the bed and putting the tray down quietly on the bedside table. He tried not to smile so she wouldn't know that he was awake enough to know she was there— even though (how really odd) he still was actually asleep.

"Sweetheart." He heard her gentle voice.

He pretended that he barely heard by making a soft noise. He stretched his legs and sighed. He felt so wonderfully comfortable. After that damn hike with Doug, this was sheer heaven— the warm, inviting bed, the soft pillow. Never again, he thought with regard to the hike.

"Honey?" she said, a little more loudly now.

"Mmm." He knew he was smiling now. So let her see.

"Wake up. Breakfast in bed," she told him.

He made a sound of pleased amusement.

"Come on now," she said. She put her hand on his shoulder and nudged it a little.

No
, he thought. Did he say it aloud? He couldn't tell and that was odd too.

Abruptly, she grabbed his shoulder, digging in her fingers, and shook him hard. "Come
on
," she said.

He jerked open his eyes and saw Doug's face hovering above him, his expression one of tried patience.

"What?" he asked.

"Rise and shine, boy," Doug told him, "time to get going."

Bob stared up groggily at him. "What time is it?" he mumbled.

"After seven," Doug answered. "I knew you were tired so I let you sleep late."

This is late? Bob thought, almost saying it aloud before deciding against it. "Okay," he muttered.

Doug started to back out of the tent.

"How long you been up?" Bob asked.

"About an hour," Doug told him.

Oh, Jesus, Bob thought. I'm gonna love this hike. He sighed and tried to sit up, wincing and making a hissing noise at the pain in his right side. He reached up and out of the sleeping bag to unzip it, wincing again at the tenderness of his right palm. He looked at it, grimacing. Blood was crusted on it and it looked discolored in spots. He blew out breath.
Oh, what a beautiful morning,
his brain sang, off-key.

"Come on, Bob, up 'n at 'em," Doug said.

"Yessir." Bob unzipped the bag and got out of it, wincing once more at the pain that lifting his legs caused. And he took offense at Marian's comment that he wasn't "in tune." I am completely
out
of tune, he thought.

He started dressing slowly, almost infirmly it seemed.

"You getting dressed?" Doug asked.

"Getting dressed," he answered.

"Early bird gets the worm, Bobby," Doug said.

Don't want a worm, he thought. "How about some coffee?" he asked.

"Later," Doug told him. "We have to get going."

Bob rubbed some water on his face and dried it with a paper napkin.

When he crawled out of the tent, he saw that Doug had dissembled the fire pit, taken down the food bags, and reloaded both their backpacks. "Thanks for putting my food away," he said.

"Just today," Doug told him. "Tomorrow morning, you'll do it yourself."

"You didn't have any coffee?" Bob asked.

"Sure I did, an hour ago," Doug said.

"Well . . ." Bob didn't know what to say. Finally, he asked, "You have breakfast too?"

"Yep," Doug nodded.

"Well . . ." Bob looked disturbed.

"We can't start cooking again," Doug told him. "We have to get going. Eat an energy bar while we're walking. When we stop to let you rest, you can make some coffee for yourself."

Bob frowned but didn't speak.

"Tomorrow I'll wake you up when
I
get up," Doug told him. "Then you can have a nice warm breakfast before we take off."

"Yeah," Bob said quietly. What's the goddamn hurry? he thought. Doug was acting as though this were a military operation.

"We need to make some mileage before we stop for coffee," Doug said.

Stop where? Bob thought. Is there a Starbucks run by bears out there?

"I'm kind of hungry, Doug," he said. "Isn't there something I can have before we leave?"

Doug's sigh was one of strained acceptance, his expression put upon.

"So . . . put some instant cereal in a plastic bag, add powdered milk and water and shake it up, eat it while we're walking."

Sounds really wonderful, Bob thought. He felt compelled to say something. Was it really necessary for Doug to be so rigid about all this?

"Doug, why do we have to rush off?" he asked, watching Doug take down the tent. "Why can't I have that nice warm breakfast before we go?"

"We will— tomorrow," Doug said, his movements brusque as he folded up the tent. "This is a backpacking hike, Bob, not a gourmet tour."

A gourmet tour? Bob thought. Just something warm for breakfast?

"You can have a nice lunch," Doug told him. "Make yourself some hot soup or something."