Authors: P.T. Deutermann
The Cat Dancers (34 page)
BY HOPPING STONES, THEY crossed the river just below the big bend. The rushing water was black, smooth, and deep between his feet, and Cam kept wondering what the hell he was doing out here. He also didn’t like being in the woods without the shepherds, but Kenny had been adamant: The dogs would screw the whole thing up, and they might get killed in the process. Once across, they entered the narrow canyon, staying on the gravel banks of the river. The entrance was only a couple hundred yards wide and the stone walls of the canyon tossed echoes of the river back and forth. A quarter of a mile in, there was a low waterfall, with a line of boulders forming the top rim. Directly across the mouth of the river, the south wall rose straight up out of the water. Kenny pointed at the line of boulders.
“We’ll cross those,” he said. “We’ll stay on the southside bank for about a half mile, and then cut up into the woods.”
“You do this shit in the dark?” Cam asked.
“Negative,” Kenny said. “First light. But I have to be in position above the den before then. I’ll leave you where you can see the den, but across the river from it.”
“How do you get to the den?”
“On a wire, from above. The rig is already up there. C’mon, we have to move.”
“Is the cat in the den?’
Kenny looked back at him with a patronizing look. “Cats sleep in the daytime, boss. At night, they hunt. She’s out here somewhere, so try to be quiet.”
The stone walls of the canyon reflected some moonlight down into the gorge, but not a lot, so they had to go slowly, climbing over large rocks and deadfall deposited by the rushing
stream during higher water. It was close to 4:00 A.M. when they bore left away from the riverbank and up onto a pine-covered hillside. There wasn’t much snow on the ground. The walls of the canyon on the north side were sheer and went up in ragged terraces nearly a thousand feet. The southside slope was less extreme, even though it rose to the same height.
stream during higher water. It was close to 4:00 A.M. when they bore left away from the riverbank and up onto a pine-covered hillside. There wasn’t much snow on the ground. The walls of the canyon on the north side were sheer and went up in ragged terraces nearly a thousand feet. The southside slope was less extreme, even though it rose to the same height.
Kenny took Cam up the slope on a loose diagonal until they reached a promontory of rock that cut back over to form a cliff over the river, some three hundred feet below them. Pine trees came down almost to the edge of the overhang of rock, and then subsided, leaving a small gravelly clearing. Perched over the noisy river below, Cam felt like he was on the bow of a ship under way.
There was marginally better light up here out of the forest. Kenny handed Cam a small pair of binoculars. He pointed to the rock face on the other side, which was only about two hundred yards straight across from them.
“First terrace up, above the rockfall, you’ll see a cave,” he whispered. “Black hole in the rock. Not very big. There’s an overhanging ledge above it, maybe a hundred feet up.”
Cam searched but couldn’t find it. Then he did. It was much smaller than he had expected. He lifted the binocs but couldn’t make out the overhang in the shadows.
“Twilight’s in three hours,” Kenny said. “I have to get down there, cross, and get back up above the den before then.”
“Why won’t the cat hear you coming?” Cam asked.
“Because she’s not there, boss,” he said. “I hope.”
“Do you know where she is?”
Kenny shook his head. “The best deer woods are upcanyon, although she could be anywhere. Including on my route to that terrace.” He grinned. “That’s part of the challenge. You still carrying that antique?”
Cam said yes.
“Keep it handy.”
Cam looked over the cliff and down toward the river, which was still very audible even up where they were perched. “How do you get across?” he asked.
“I rigged a second wire, right down there. I’ll go hand over hand, and then there’s the rockfall up to the first terrace, and from there I have to do some rock climbing to the second terrace. The wire’s set up on a ledge there. The river masks the sound of my going up the rockfall. After that I have to be really quiet, in case I’m wrong about her being in the den. You stay right here. You’ll see the whole thing.”
“You have a gun?” Cam asked.
Kenny said, “No, just the camera.” He pulled it out of his pocket. He’d applied shrink-wrapping of some kind to the body of the camera to protect it from the elements. “That’s the deal. I have a short-range can of pepper spray in case things get really out of hand, but this is what it’s all about. We have a rule: We don’t hurt the cats.”
“And the cats?”
“They have no rules.”
It was actually a little warmer now that they were in the canyon, but not much. Cam shivered as he remembered being up in that tree, with Night-Night coming up after him. “Kenny, look,” he said. “I’m convinced, okay? Let’s call it a win and get the hell back to town. I don’t need to see this.”
“Yeah, you do, boss,” Kenny said. “Seeing truly is believing in this little game. But for right now, get back into the trees until first light. These cats can see pretty good in the dark. Here, take this.” Kenny passed him a folded-up plastic winter survival suit. “Climb into this thing and back yourself into a pine tree. And try to stay awake.” Then he was gone.
Cam surveyed the stone wall across the gorge with the binoculars for a few minutes, taking in the rockfall and the gray terraces rising above the lower slopes in the moonlight. He tried again to see the cave, but now he couldn’t. He wondered how many millions of years this river had been carving its way through the granite. The top part of the mountain opposite was covered in snow, but most of the southern face was clear, except where iced-over streams painted silver ribbons down the rock.
He walked back to the first trees, about fifty feet back from the edge of the cliff, and quietly pulled the suit out of
its pouch. It was made of some space-age material and was the thickness of kitchen foil. Shaped like a snowsuit, complete with hood, it would contain almost all of his body heat, thus protecting from hypothermia even under extreme conditions. He climbed gingerly into the suit and then made himself a place to sit by shoving aside the lower branches of some pines. He sat down with his back to a tree, patted the comforting bulk of the .45 in his coat pocket, and promptly dozed off.
its pouch. It was made of some space-age material and was the thickness of kitchen foil. Shaped like a snowsuit, complete with hood, it would contain almost all of his body heat, thus protecting from hypothermia even under extreme conditions. He climbed gingerly into the suit and then made himself a place to sit by shoving aside the lower branches of some pines. He sat down with his back to a tree, patted the comforting bulk of the .45 in his coat pocket, and promptly dozed off.
He was awakened by the sound of sleet pattering on his hood. He opened his eyes to a curtain of blowing snow and frozen ice particles. What the hell? he thought. It was clear a minute ago. He turned sideways and illuminated his watch. It was 6:30. And then the cloud of blowing snow lifted as suddenly as it had begun, to be followed a minute later by another one. When it subsided, he looked over at the cliffs and saw what was happening. A solid wind had sprung up on the top of the mountain, and it was blowing a graceful cape of snow and ice off the top of the ridge and down into the deep canyon. With the approach of dawn, the sky above was no longer black, but gray. He ducked as another wave of frozen precipitation came blowing down, and then he shucked the survival suit and crept down to the edge of the cliff with the binoculars.
Perversely, the approaching dawn had put the opposite face into even darker shadow, so at first he could see nothing over there except the great gray expanse of rock. Second terrace, Kenny had said. He scanned the cliff face again, starting at the rockfall and going up until he thought he could see the ledge that was the second terrace. Then he searched left and right. He had to duck as another wave of ice crystals blew down across the river, and when he looked back up, he saw a flash of light to the right of where he’d been looking. He focused the binocs in that area and finally saw Kenny. The summit wind penetrated down into the canyon for a moment and his eyes watered in the sudden blast of icy air. Should have kept that suit on, he thought.
Kenny flashed his penlight at him one more time and then
swung out on the invisible wire. Cam pointed the binocs down the rock face and finally saw the cave. In fact, everything was becoming more visible as sunrise approached. He looked up and saw that the wind up top had changed direction and was blowing the icy plume southwest, back into the canyon.
swung out on the invisible wire. Cam pointed the binocs down the rock face and finally saw the cave. In fact, everything was becoming more visible as sunrise approached. He looked up and saw that the wind up top had changed direction and was blowing the icy plume southwest, back into the canyon.
He found Kenny again and watched as he slipped down the wire, one arm outstretched to keep from spinning. The terrace apparently overhung the cave ledge, because Kenny was dangling in free space, some twenty feet off the rock face and nearly two hundred feet above the river. Down he went in little jerks until he was about level with the cave entrance, and then he went lower still, five to six more feet. Then he stopped. He spun slowly on the wire and looked over in Cam’s direction. Cam, keeping the binocs to his eyes, dropped a glove and waved his bare hand. Kenny waved back, and Cam could see that he had something in his hand, probably the camera. Then he swung around on the wire and began to pump his legs, initiating a swinging motion in toward the rock face. Cam stared into the cave and saw nothing but a black hole.
Kenny swung out and back in, getting closer to the rock face with each swing, using both arms to steady himself now that he was no longer sliding down the wire. Each swing in brought him closer to the rock, until it looked to Cam as if he would hit it with his feet at the top of his arc. He swung out one last time, way out, it seemed, and then back in. At that instant, a shriek erupted from inside the cave, amplified by the cavity in the rock, and the cat appeared just as Kenny swung all the way in and flashed the camera. The cat shrieked again at the flash and Kenny swung back out, twirling now that he longer had to control his aspect to the cave.
But he failed to stop his swing.
As the wire arced back in one more time, Cam watched Kenny’s triumphant grin turn to horror as the furious cat gathered itself. He saw Kenny try to stop the swing, pumping hard with his legs, although not succeeding. At the closest reach of the swing, the cat bounded forward from the cave
and sprang out across the narrow open space between her and the dangling man. Cam thought he saw another flash, and then the cat was enveloping Kenny in a shrieking, shredding embrace. As the wire went back out, man and beast convulsed for a bloody second and then dropped like separate stones into the rushing black river nearly one hundred feet below, passing out of Cam’s line of sight before they hit.
and sprang out across the narrow open space between her and the dangling man. Cam thought he saw another flash, and then the cat was enveloping Kenny in a shrieking, shredding embrace. As the wire went back out, man and beast convulsed for a bloody second and then dropped like separate stones into the rushing black river nearly one hundred feet below, passing out of Cam’s line of sight before they hit.
CAM POCKETED THE BINOCS and scrambled right down to the edge of the cliff, windmilling his own arms to stop himself as he felt loose gravel slide out from under his boots. He got down on his hands and knees and looked over the edge, but he could see nothing but the river as it crashed along its rocky course in the canyon. He felt suddenly exposed on this jutting, narrow ledge. Still down on his hands and knees, he backed away from the edge before standing up. His heart was pounding and he realized he’d been holding his breath. He had to get down there.
Down where? He hadn’t even seen where they went in.
If
they went in, and weren’t both smashed on those huge boulders lining the river’s tumbling course. He picked up the binocs and went back to the edge to sweep the opposite riverbank, looking for any signs of Kenny’s red parka or the tawny body of the cat.
If
they went in, and weren’t both smashed on those huge boulders lining the river’s tumbling course. He picked up the binocs and went back to the edge to sweep the opposite riverbank, looking for any signs of Kenny’s red parka or the tawny body of the cat.
Nothing. Not a sign of anything but that solid black current, grinding away at its evolutionary task.
He rocked back on his haunches, trying to decide what to do. He had to go down there.
Had
to look. Directly below the cave, and then downstream. The river wasn’t deep, except where it poured into geologic holes, and there were plenty of big rocks midstream for things to hang up on.
Had
to look. Directly below the cave, and then downstream. The river wasn’t deep, except where it poured into geologic holes, and there were plenty of big rocks midstream for things to hang up on.
Daylight was coming on, and the cat was probably dead or so badly injured that it presented no danger, nine lives not withstanding. A hundred feet could smash the life and breath out of any animal hitting water. He had no illusions about finding Kenny alive. What the cat hadn’t done to him, the fall probably had.
“Hold that thought,” Kenny had said. What the hell was it
with these guys? Did being a cat dancer mean you really did want to die? It was almost like one of those guys who, when surrounded by cops with guns drawn and pointed, went for his. “Suicide by cop,” they called it. NAFOD: no apparent fear of death.
with these guys? Did being a cat dancer mean you really did want to die? It was almost like one of those guys who, when surrounded by cops with guns drawn and pointed, went for his. “Suicide by cop,” they called it. NAFOD: no apparent fear of death.
He made his way down the slope, following what he thought was the same trail they’d come up the night before. Or this morning, actually, he thought. His heart was heavy. Kenny Cox had to be dead. He wondered what signs he’d missed all these years, how many times he’d ignored Kenny’s furious rants about how the bad guys were winning and how the lawyers and the judges were killing America in their cancerous pursuit of fees and power.
He paid no attention to his surroundings as he went down, half walking, half stumbling across the slope, starting small avalanches of loose rock and coming close to spraining an ankle several times. By the time he reached the river, he was sweating under all the layers of clothing. The sun wasn’t visible in the canyon, but the sunlight was, painting the rocks and trees with vivid color in the pristine mountain air. He stepped out onto a large boulder, wondering if it had come down from the mountaintop and how long ago, and surveyed the river.
Still no sign of Kenny or the cat. All he could do was head downstream, taking periodic looks from any rock high enough to give him a vantage point. He kept getting stuck among the boulders, climbing around some and over some and then finding that he couldn’t go forward at all. He was half-tempted to jump into the river and let that powerful current take him downstream to the mouth of the canyon. And freeze to death halfway there, he thought. Then he saw something red about a hundred yards downstream.
Cam yelled Kenny’s name and tried to hurry, but he only got himself stuck again. He had to backtrack, splash through pools of icy water, climb a rock to see how to get farther downstream, and then get down and do it all again. Twenty minutes later, he was close enough to use the binocs. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Kenny was still in his
parka, crumpled up against the face of a huge boulder in a tiny backwash of the river’s main channel. He yelled again that he was coming, then set out again to navigate the maze of tumbled granite.
parka, crumpled up against the face of a huge boulder in a tiny backwash of the river’s main channel. He yelled again that he was coming, then set out again to navigate the maze of tumbled granite.
When he finally reached Kenny, he had to slide down the side of a boulder to reach the little sandy beach. Kenny lay in a sodden heap on the wet sand. The river was much louder down at its edge, a constant reminder of its unrelenting power. He realized that there was no way back up except to climb the wet rock. He knelt down to examine Kenny.
The cat had done tremendous damage. Kenny’s face was clawed, as was the material of his parka. And his hands—Cam had to close his eyes for a moment. Kenny had his knees drawn up tight into his stomach, and the bottom of the parka was redder than the top. His face was a pasty gray, almost white, and his mouth was open slightly. Cam was sure he was dead, until Kenny’s chest jerked with a shallow cough.
“I’m right here, man. I’m right here,” Cam said, loudly enough to be heard above the rushing water. He wanted to lift Kenny’s head off the wet rock, but was afraid to move him. Kenny opened his eyes, blinked, and then tried to focus.
“I’m right here, Kenny,” Cam said again, feeling helpless. Right here, and there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do for you, he thought.
Kenny’s eyes rolled out of focus for a moment and then came back to look at Cam.
“Hoo-ah,” he croaked, and tried to grin, not quite pulling it off. “Pocket.”
Cam didn’t quite hear him. “Pocket,” Kenny said again. “Camera.”
Good God, Cam thought. All this, and he wants to know if he got his fucking picture—his “face.” He looked down at the parka and saw a small lump in the right-hand slant pocket. He reached into the pocket gingerly, got his fingers on the camera, and felt some squishy things under the material—things he didn’t want to feel. The camera was attached to the inside of the pocket with a nylon lanyard. Kenny groaned in
pain as Cam unclipped and withdrew the camera. It was one of those little throwaways and it was soaking wet.
pain as Cam unclipped and withdrew the camera. It was one of those little throwaways and it was soaking wet.
“I got it, Kenny,” he said. “It’s right here.” He held it up so Kenny could see it. Kenny focused on the camera and then back on Cam’s face. He was trying to say something, but no words were coming out.
“Don’t try to talk, man,” Cam said. “Just hold still. I’ll get us some help.”
“No. Fucking. Way,” Kenny gasped. “I’m done. All done.” He grinned again, and for a moment Cam saw the Kenny of old. “One face too many.” His chest heaved in a wet cough and he blanched white with the pain.
Cam sat back on his haunches and tried to think of what to do. Little wavelets swept into the pocket from the main river and then went back out tinged with pink. Kenny’s lips were working again.
“Bomb,” Kenny said. Cam bent closer.
“What, Kenny? Bomb? What about a bomb?”
“Bomb,” Kenny said again, visibly weaker. “Not us.”
“I know, man,” Cam said, putting his hand on Kenny’s broken head. “You told me that, and I believe you.” He wanted to ask who, if not them, but he was too choked up to care right now. Kenny Cox was leaving the building, and there was nothing he could do about it, not out here, and probably not even back in the world.
Kenny said something, but Cam missed it. He bent down to hear. “Not us. Them. Tell McLain. Look in the mirror.”
Cam blinked. Had he heard it right?
Look in the mirror?
Kenny’s left hand came up and grabbed Cam’s right hand. He squeezed tightly, surprising Cam with the strength of it, and then his head flopped back and he was gone.
Look in the mirror?
Kenny’s left hand came up and grabbed Cam’s right hand. He squeezed tightly, surprising Cam with the strength of it, and then his head flopped back and he was gone.
Cam pried Kenny’s lifeless hand off and stood up. Kenny seemed to shrink before his very eyes, and then Cam noticed that the water seemed to have risen in the little pocket. The sodden hood of Kenny’s parka was being tugged by a current that hadn’t been there before. Cam looked around. He was surrounded by fifteen-foot-high boulders, but the sunlight in the canyon was much brighter. Was it his imagination, or did
the river sound different? And what could change that quickly out there to make it rise?
the river sound different? And what could change that quickly out there to make it rise?
He looked around again. It was definitely rising. Water was swirling around his boots and coming close to floating Kenny’s body. He wanted to get Kenny out of here, up onto the dry rock above, but there was no way he could get himself and two hundred–plus pounds of dead body out of this little pocket. He zipped the tiny camera into his own pocket and began to wedge his way up the slippery rock. When he got to the top, he discovered that the rock he was on was now an island, separated from the shore by a six-foot-wide ribbon of swiftly flowing black water. The river was definitely wider now, casting other streams parallel to the main current throughout the rock-strewn canyon. He didn’t wait. He slid down the other side of the rock he was on and dropped into the water, which fortunately turned out to be only knee-deep. He struck out for the next rock, trying to ignore the vise of cold gripping his lower limbs. He got to the next rock and then the next, finally scrambling up onto a wide sandbar covered in baseball-size gravel.
He sloshed across the gravel bar and five feet up onto what looked like the real riverbank, which was littered with shattered dead trees and muddy tufts of flattened grass. The main current was now invisible behind the bigger boulders, but it was definitely making more noise, and he could hear the sound of smaller rocks being cracked against bigger ones as the current reclaimed more and more of its channel. He felt a cold wind rise as he sat down and pulled off his soaked boots and socks. He looked west and saw the edge of a black cloud building up over the high ridge about six miles away. He thought he saw a curtain of rain sweep out of it, but it was probably sleet. Somewhere upstream, it was probably raining. Not good.
He wrung out his wet socks as best he could and then put them back on, fighting with his boots to get them laced. He had to get back down the canyon and across that line of boulders at the elbow before they, too, became submerged and trapped him in the canyon. He had no illusions about what
could happen: There were clear signs fifty feet above him of how high the river could run, and it would be even higher in the narrow defile below. He got up and started downstream as fast he could go, trying not to look at that dark horizon forming above and behind him as he threaded his way through the boulder field and the snags.
could happen: There were clear signs fifty feet above him of how high the river could run, and it would be even higher in the narrow defile below. He got up and started downstream as fast he could go, trying not to look at that dark horizon forming above and behind him as he threaded his way through the boulder field and the snags.
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