“No, I didn’t.”
“Oh, that’s right, you had psoriasis, didn’t you?” Doug said. His tone was close to mocking.
“I didn’t ask to have it, Doug,” Bob answered coolly. “It’s genetic. And I didn’t make the rules about what constitutes physical rejection by the army.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Doug said disinterestedly.
12:02 PM
We have to stop for lunch soon, I am starving, Bob thought. He had eaten an energy bar, a cookie, and a small apple but it had only delayed his hunger. He was getting ravenous now.
He was about to speak when Doug stopped ahead and pointed upward. Bob looked up through the foliage and saw a large number of big birds circling in the sky.
“Vultures waiting for us?” he suggested.
Doug didn’t react to the attempted joke. “Hawks,” he said. “A storm is coming.”
“Oh, great, that’s all we need,” Bob reacted.
He saw Doug sniffing exaggeratedly. “What do you smell?” he asked.
“The ground,” Doug said. “It always smells odd before a storm.”
Bob inhaled as deeply as he could through his nose but couldn’t tell if the smell of the ground was any different. For that matter, he had never smelled the ground at all. Was Doug pulling his leg? He wouldn’t be surprised.
“Take off your cap,” Doug said, removing his.
“Why?”
“Just do it,” Doug told him.
Oh, shit, Bob thought. He took off his corduroy cap. “Yeah?” he said.
“Does your hair feel thicker?” Doug asked.
Bob had to chuckle at that. “That would be nice,” he said.
Doug laughed. “Your hair is thinning a bit, isn’t it?” he asked, he said.
“’Fraid so,” Bob answered, looking at Doug’s thick shock of black hair. Although he was sure that Doug dyed it for professional reasons. And maybe ego reasons too; no way of knowing.
Looking up again, he noticed now a huge towering cloud in the distance. “Oh, that looks ominous,” he said.
“Cumulus nimbus,” Doug informed him. “Thunderhead cloud. We could be in for a real storm. We’d better find us a place to stay dry.”
Super, Bob thought. Just what I was hoping for, a thunderstorm. “Lightning too?” he asked.
“Oh, sure,” Doug answered, looking around. For a hotel, I hope, Bob thought.
“Let’s head for that cliff,” Doug told him. “Could be a cave there. We’ll have to move a little faster though. No way of telling how soon the storm’s going to hit.”
“Can we eat soon?” Bob asked. “I’m pretty hungry.”
“Cave first, lunch second,” Doug said. “Let’s go. Keep up with me now. And if you think a lightning strike is imminent get down as low as you can, sit or crouch on your pack to avoid ground currents.”
Oh, God, this is a fucking nightmare, Bob thought.
Doug had turned to the left and started toward what looked to Bob like a good-sized mountain. His stride was rapid. As the undergrowth thinned and the stands of trees began to diminish, he moved faster and faster. Bob did his best to keep the same distance between himself and Doug but kept falling farther and farther behind. Should he call after Doug and ask him to slow down? He did agree that they’d need some kind of shelter if it was going to rain hard, especially if there was going to be lightning. Still, he found himself getting more breathless by the minute, partially because of the speed Doug was going, partially because the pack felt so heavy. In addition, he was becoming increasingly aware of the ache in his side and the pain of the blister on his foot. Can’t we just set up the tent? he thought.
Fortunately, the ground, as they approached the foothills, grew more and more open and he was able to keep Doug in view even though the distance between them was getting constantly larger. Doug never looked back.
Does he even care if he loses me? Bob wondered. Why, oh why, did I ever decide to write this goddamn novel? Marian was right, a hundred percent. They could be lolling on a Hawaiian beach right now, sipping—what had she suggested?—yes, chi-chis. Instead, here he was lurching and limping as fast as he could through a national forest, trying to overtake Doug while an impending thunderstorm gathered overhead.
It was impending too, he saw, wincing. Now that he was almost out in the open, starting to move up an incline (which only made him more breathless, more tired, more achy), he could see that the sky was darkening rapidly, the huge cloud drifting over them. Oh, Christ, don’t let it start before we find a cave or something, he thought.
Up ahead, Doug turned to look back. “Use a rest step!” he called.
“A what?!”
“Rest step, rest step!” Doug said impatiently. “Lift your left leg, move it forward, and put it down with no weight on it! Pause a few seconds, keeping all your weight on the right foot! Then shift your weight to the left leg and move the right leg forward, with no weight on it! Then start with your left leg again! You got it?!”
“Yeah! Yeah.” Bob had only a limited idea of what Doug was talking about but didn’t want to ask for a repeat explanation. He wanted to find that cave—assuming it existed—before the deluge hit.
He continued up the slope, trying to approximate what Doug had told him and having little success. He grimaced, listening to the roll and mutter of thunder that seemed to get closer every minute.
His right hand was leaning on a boulder, trying to brace himself as he climbed, when there was a tremendous roar overhead and, suddenly, a blinding flash of light that made him gasp, then cry out in stunned terror as he felt an electric shock run up his arm on the boulder. I’ve been struck by lightning! he thought in shock. He shuddered, horrified, seeing that the hand that had been on the boulder looked ashen with a bluish-gray tinge. I’m going to die! he thought. He felt himself slip to one side and crumple to the ground. I’m paralyzed, he thought with a sob. Dear God, I’m paralyzed!
It seemed as though, almost instantly, Doug was kneeling by him, a look of concern on his face. “Jesus, Bobby, you got hit by lightning.”
“No kidding,” he said weakly.
“Can you move your arms and legs?” Doug asked.
Bob tried, and with some help from Doug, who rubbed and moved his arms and legs, he found that he wasn’t paralyzed after all. “Jesus Christ,” Doug said, strangely amused it seemed—it must be relief, Bob thought. “When I heard that boom and saw that flash and heard you scream—”
“I screamed?” Bob murmured.
“Like a stuck pig,” Doug said. Bob could see now that his smiles of amusement were relief. “Then, when I saw you flop on the ground, I thought, Oh, Jesus Christ, what am I going to tell Marian, I took your husband on a hike and got him killed by lightning? Jesus!” He shook himself as though ridding himself of dismay. “Whoa,” he said, “I don’t know why you weren’t fried. I’m glad you weren’t though.”
“So am I,” Bob muttered. Jesus Christ, he thought. Struck by lightning. How could such a thing happen?
He jumped as another roar of thunder sounded overhead. Doug pulled him up. “Crouch on the balls of your feet,” he said quickly.
He had barely done so when another bolt of lightning flashed, this time farther away.
“We’d better get to that cave,” Doug said.
“What cave?” Bob asked.
“There’s one not far up,” Doug said. “Come on.”
It suddenly began to rain. “Oh, boy,” Doug said.
He helped Bob put on his poncho, then threw on his own. “Let’s go,” he said. He chuckled unexpectedly, reaching out to touch one of Bob’s eyebrows. “They got singed,” he said.