“All right, let’s go,” he said crisply. At least, he tried to make it sound crisp. He had no idea how convincing it was to Doug.
Probably not at all.
They were crossing a tree-dripping glade, Bob twenty feet behind, when Doug suddenly stopped and, reaching back across his shoulder, snatched an arrow from its quiver. Oh, my God, he’s going to kill me! Bob thought in shock. Freezing in his tracks, he stared aghast as Doug grabbed his bow and quickly fitted the arrow’s neck into the bowstring.
Instead of whirling though, Doug kept looking ahead, drew back the string quickly, and shot the arrow at something Bob couldn’t see.
He moved up to where Doug remained standing. “Why’d you do that?” he asked.
Doug pointed toward the ground ahead and Bob looked in that direction.
Lying on the ground, twitching feebly as it died, was a large raccoon. Its fur is so beautiful, was the first thing Bob thought. “How come you killed it?” he asked, trying not to sound in the least bit critical.
“Rabies,” Doug told him.
“How do you know it had rabies?” Bob asked.
“Raccoons aren’t in the habit of coming straight at you in broad daylight,” Doug said. “And doing it fast. They avoid people; they don’t attack them.”
“He was attacking?” Bob asked, incredulous.
“My call, Bobby,” Doug said curtly. “I didn’t care to take the chance that it was just being friendly.”
Bob nodded immediately. “I understand,” he said.
“Do you?” Doug responded. “Do you know that wildlife-related cases of rabies have more than doubled in the last ten years? Do you know what a rabies attack can be like? Hallucinations? Swallowing so painful you can’t eat or drink? Muscle spasms in the face and neck? A raging fever? Probable death? You wonder why I killed the damn raccoon?”
“No, no—I understand,” Bob said hastily. God forbid he got Doug ranting again. “You did the right thing.”
“Damn right.” Doug slung the bow across his shoulder and, without another word, started quickly across the glade.
Bob stopped for a few moments to look down at the dead raccoon. It looked as though it had been in perfect health. He couldn’t get over how beautiful its fur was—all silvery and black.
As he started after Doug he was unable to prevent himself from wondering if the raccoon really did have rabies or whether Doug was trying to impress him—hell, intimidate him—with his skill at using the bow and arrow. Oh, don’t be paranoid, for chrissake, he told himself—but he couldn’t help mulling over the suspicion. Was he missing something here? Was Doug actually a menace to him? He didn’t want to believe that for a moment. Still, the tension between them seemed to be increasing all the time. Just how did Doug feel about him? It had better be benign because if it was something more, he was a pretty helpless prey.
Oh, come on, he ordered himself angrily. Just because you’re having arguments doesn’t translate into murderous intent on Doug’s part. For Christ’s sake, Doug may well have saved your life if the raccoon really was rabid.
It was rabid, he tried to convince himself. Shape up, Hansen. By the weekend you’ll be home with Marian and all this will be nothing more than an unpleasant memory.
Doug had stopped at the base of a steep slope, waiting for Bob to catch up.
What now? Bob thought, looking up the slope. It was much steeper than the one they’d climbed to reach the cave. “What are we—?” he started.
“We have two choices,” Doug interrupted. “Either we go around this and add miles to the hike before we stop. Or we climb it and save ourselves a lot of time.”
Bob drew in a shaking breath. “Well, I’m not too confident in my ability to do mountain climbing,” he said.
“Mountain climbing?” Doug sounded as though he couldn’t believe what Bob had said. “Jesus Christ, this is a slope, not a mountain.”
Bob didn’t want to try it. But, even less, did he want to generate another conflict between them. So he nodded unconvincingly and said, even more unconvincingly, “Okay, let’s do it.”
He was sure Doug knew that he didn’t mean a word of it but acted as though he wasn’t aware of it. “Good,” Doug said. “Use that rest step I told you about and it won’t be too hard.” Without another word, he started up the slope.
Bob followed, boots slipping on the brush, roots, and mud surface of the slope. Jesus, are my clothes going to be filthy, he thought. He kept trying the rest step but the ground was just too slippery for it to work; he kept falling to his knees, getting mud on his hands, hurting his right palm.
As he labored up the slope—the backpack starting to feel like an anvil on his back again—he recalled the pleasure with which he’d accepted Doug’s offer to take him on a backpacking trip. That was a great decision, Hansen, he derided himself. One of the best you ever made.
Looking up, he saw that Doug had stopped and was looking back at him. “Going to make it?” Doug asked dubiously.
“I’ll be fine,” he answered breathlessly.
He stiffened, seeing a boulder, loosened by the rain, rolling directly at Doug.
“Look out!” he cried.
Doug jerked around and saw the boulder rolling down at him. He made a sudden move to avoid it and slipped, banging his elbow against a rock, hissing at the pain.
Bob had no idea where the strength came from. But, surging upward abruptly, he grabbed Doug’s pack and jerked him out of the way of the boulder. Not all the way though. As the boulder rumbled past, it grazed Doug’s right shoulder, hitting his backpack and jolting him around in a quarter spin. “Jesus!” Doug cried.
They crouched together on the muddy soil, looking at each other. Doug kept wincing at the pain in his shoulder and elbow. “Damn,” he muttered. “Damn it.”
“You all right?” Bob asked. He panted a little as he spoke.
“I dunno,” Doug said. He rubbed his elbow, grimacing. “Shit,” he said.
Bob struggled to his feet, thinking: Well, don’t thank me, Doug, I only saved your life.
To his amazement, Doug didn’t thank him. “That was really something,” was the closest he came.
“Yeah. It was,” Bob said. He was astounded that Doug expressed not one scintilla of gratitude. Instead, Doug got up and said, “We’d better move or it’ll be dark before we reach the campsite.”
Yeah, right, Bob thought. Your appreciation really warms the cockles of my heart, Douglas.
As though to prove that the injuries had no serious effect on him, Doug moved on up the slope at an even faster pace than he’d been going before. Jesus God, what kind of childhood did he really have? Bob wondered. Proving his mettle seemed to outweigh everything else, even gratitude for someone who may have saved him from critical injury.
He couldn’t restrain himself. “Doug, I might have just saved your life, you know.”
“No, no, I would have gotten out of the way by myself,” Doug answered casually.
Why, you ungrateful son of a bitch, Bob thought. I should have let the fucking boulder crush you into jam.
Shaking his head, he continued climbing the slope. Incredible, he kept thinking. Simply incredible.