Part 7
The forest air is filled with death as dirt, leaves, rock, and bark detonate and combust. The bullets collide with all of nature and rearrange it into their own scarred landscape of violence. PB dashes like a panicked rabbit under the trees and it is only a matter of time before the rain of lead finds it's target. He can feel the moment coming, seconds remaining. He can feel the impact of the bullets coming closer behind him, spiraling into the ground, and as he runs he anticipates the piercing heat of the first one entering his back.
He staggers through a bush and the machine gun suddenly stops it's chatter as the shooter in the helicopter reloads. PB glances up into the spotlight before tripping over a bullet riddled log and and he is suddenly falling head over heals down a steep embankment. He comes to a stop in a pile of dirt and rock with leaves in his mouth and a bruise on his temple. While the spot light searches desperately in the nearby trees he notices a large rock ten feet away from him that houses a shallow hollow under it just above the dirt.
He scurries to the rock on his hands and knees and forces his body into the hollow. It is a desperate squeeze and the jagged edges in the roof of rock cut into his arms and knees. He doesn't quite fit but he holds his breath and his body is completely under the overhang. The spotlight flashes over the rock and PB keeps himself completely still. The blood bashes in his temples and down his neck. His breath is hard and stale in the tiny cave. It is like a coffin and his limbs are quickly cramped and aching.
The helicopter continues to circle and search and fill the forest with the clamor of it's rotating blades. It begins to die down as it searches farther in the distance and PB begins to breath easier until the motor rages in volume and the spotlight sweeps by the rock again. It hovers above the area for what seems to be hours. PB waits, his limbs jammed into the skinny crevasse, the pain and stiffness slowly becoming unbearable until they taper off and his body goes numb in the cold.
The helicopter makes it's way to another part of the forest and the sound of it gets weaker and weaker until it is only a quiet mutter in the distance. PB thinks about getting out of the tiny cave, he can feel insects creeping along his neck and on his legs just above his socks, but he is too tired and numb and soon he is asleep.
He awakes with the sun directly on his face. It is somehow perfectly positioned in the morning sky so that it it's full heat and power are pumping right into the crack under the rock and into his eyeballs. It's rather cold but PB can still feel the fresh burn on his face. He drags himself out of the crevasse and everything hurts. His knees, his elbows, his stomach, his feet, his toes, even his ears hurt.
He is lost, there are people trying to kill him, and he is terrorized by both thirst and hunger, but he can't deny that it is a beautiful Yosemite morning. The sun that has woken him up so rudely is shining it's Autumn light through the soft dust and leaves and lighting up all the rich greens and browns of the forest. He thinks of Sam and he suddenly finds himself plodding through the bushes and thickets with a burst of energy and a renewed sense of purpose.
After over an hour of of hiking the trees clear in front of PB and he finds himself in a wide open meadow. The open space seems less wild than the dense forest and the hope of finding other human beings pushes it's way up and sits in his dry throat. He staggers through the grass and comes upon a clear flowing stream that snakes it's way through the meadow. He collapses along it's bank and gratefully spoons water into his mouth using his hands. He let's his face fall into the cold mud and sit there, the water washing up into his scalp.
"G'mornining mate!"
PB rolls over and sits up, startled. A man stands on the other side of the stream filling his canteen with water. He is dirty and grinning with a overgrown scraggly red beard framing his face.
"Where's your camp mate?" the man asks and PB notes the Australian accent.
"I don't have a camp. There's men. From the mountain! In a helicopter. They're trying to kill me. They have my friend."
It all pops and cracks out of PB's throat and the Australian grins and nods good naturally before saying: "Sounds like you got a bit of a dilemma there mate. Why don't you come on back to our camp and have a spot of breakfast aye?"
PB trudges through the stream and follows the man back into the trees and down a slope to a clearing where two tents are set up with a fire burning invitingly from a pit in the center. The Australian explains that his name is Ben and that he has been out there for about a week and loving the country. He introduces PB to his companion Richard who is a large blond haired Australian who grips PB's hand in a vice like grip and shakes it until PB is light headed.
The two hikers cook up some food, first oatmeal and then some sweet and sour pork out of a bag, and then a desert of mixed nuts with M&M's mixed it in. PB warms himself off of the fire and explains the last few days between mouthfuls of food. Both Australian's nod and listen respectfully, the grins never leaving their faces.
"Do ya think you could spot out where that mountain base is at?" Richard asks.
"I don't know. It's not far from the John Muir trail, I know that. Maybe if I was in the same area I might be able to spot it."
"We got to bring these thugs to justice," Ben throws out.
"I want to know who's behind it all. It's got to be someone big. Powerful."
"The man at the top," Richard says.
"I woudn't mind meeting that bear," Ben says happily and his grin widens.
"Yes you would," PB explains solemnly "The bastard isn't even an animal. He's beast from somewhere else. It's like it came out of a nightmare."
"Oh I don't know mate. If it walks and breaths and can be took down," Ben says and with that he pulls out an old antique revolver and shows it to PB, his grin intact.
"What are you going to do with that thing? I told you, these guys were shooting a machine gun at it."
"But where mate? In the head? If they shot it in the head they probably would have brought down the bloody thing."
"Got to get it in the head," Richard confirms.
PB naps at the camp and awakes as dusk begins to close in from the trees. Ben lends PB his bubble goose jacket and PB makes his way up the slope and back towards the meadow in search of fire wood. He collects wood into a pile by the stream and thinks of Sam and what she may be going through. He shudders at the idea of her being harmed or tortured and pushes those thoughts away. Now that he has food in his body and feels refreshed he is determined to come to her rescue. He will talk Ben and Richard into departing at first light and together they will hike to a ranger station, gather a posse, and storm the mysterious hillside fortress.
PB is on his way back to the camp when he hears a voice float up through the trees. There is no hint of an accent which makes PB stop and place the wood down on the ground. He slowly makes his way along the slope until he can make out the camp below in the dimming light. Both Richard and Ben are on their knees with their hands in the air and the Ranger is standing over them brandishing a hand gun.
"Which way did he head out?" the Ranger asks, his tone already hinting at a lack of patience. The two Australians grin up at him.
"He just went to get some wood mate. Don't know exactly where," Ben offers him happily.
"What did he tell you? Do you know where he's going?"
"He said a lot of stuff mate. Most of it not making sense. People chasing him and girl and her brother being held captive. Kind of poppycock really."
The Ranger scans the perimeter of the camp and then looks back at the two grinning faces before shooting a bullet into each of their heads. A burst of red gas appears behind each of the Australian's skulls before their lifeless bodies crumple to the ground, both of their grins still intact.
To be continued in Part 8.
Photograph by Bob Pierce Jr.
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