Part 8
PB splashes through the stream and back into the trees that he emerged from that morning. He runs through the darkening forest until his limbs burn and the tears run down his face. The deaths of the Australians play in his mind like a loop, the shots and then their lifeless bodies laid out on the forest floor and then the shots again. It is the second time in almost as many days that he had seen someone die violently and the horror of it spurs him on though the brush and foliage.
He doesn't rest until night has fallen completly and the valley is engulfed in darkness. He leans against the trunk of a thick pine and sweats into its bark. His breath burns in his throat but slows down and quiets in his ears until he can hear the forest again. He stiffens and looks up when he hears voices in the distance. It sounds like two men calling out to each other and the fear pumping adrenalin into his blood will not let him wait to find out who it is.
He pushes his way through low branches and leaves and one of the stiff pine limbs slaps him across the mouth and he can taste the blood in his mouth. He is tired of the forest, he is tired of running, and he is tired of living in fear. He slows down and listens to the darkness. There is nothing but his breathing for a full minute but then he sees the two beams from the flash lights coming from the direction that he has just been. He crouches down amongst the ferns, searching for a place to hide. There is nothing and he wishes he had never left the cave that he had spent the previous night. He has no choice but to crawl through the dirt and creep away through the bushes from the two lights in pursuit.
It is a clear crisp night, much less overcast than the night before, allowing the moon to illuminate the whole valley. There's a beautiful magic to it that goes unnoticed by PB who scrapes and tears through the wilderness with the wild abandon of a man half mad with fear. Schemes and scenarios make their way through his mind but go no where. At one point he is close to stopping in hopes of finding some sort of stick or club and confronting his pursuers. But he knows he is too weak and exhausted and will have no chance in a struggle. A flash of the Ranger executing the Australians shoots through his head and he plods on.
He kicks his way through a family of nettles and finds himself standing on a trail. The moon shines down on it and he can see it clearly twist and turn through the forest in both directions. All he can do is guess which leads him to going right. After battling the wilderness for two days there is something very comforting in walking along an open and clearly defined trail. He hikes at a steady pace until he glances back and spots the flash lights still shining and making their way along the trail. He picks up speed and tries to jog but his legs are weak and rubbery and he can do nothing but half walk and half jog in an awkward loping hybrid.
He knows he won't be able to keep it up, his legs will give out. He will fall into the dust of the trail and then shortly after men will walk up and shoot him. He is the most tired he has ever been in his life and the idea of death is almost a relief. But then what? What will happen to Sam? Who will stop these people?
He has only one choice and he finally goes with it, turning left off of the trail and into the denser foliage. He stumbles over stumps and battered logs and once he is a good ways from the trail, falls to the ground. He yanks up hand fulls of dirt and leaves and spreads them over his aching body. He scoops and drops until he is thoroughly covered and drags over a loose branch to place over his head. He lies under the leaves and dirt and waits for what will come.
The pursuers don't take long to follow his tracks from the trail. He can hear the cracks of the sticks under their feet and can see their flashlights in the corner of his eye. They stomp around not less than twenty feet from where he lies and then continue farther into the forest.
PB lies under the dirt and leaves for hours and hours, going in and out of sleep despite the fear, and the pain, and the cold. He waits out the entire night until light begins to slowly creep in through the trees at which point he digs himself out and struggles to his feet. It is a cold morning, winter making it's imminent arrival known by cutting through PB's coat and skin. His nose runs as he searches for the trail.
He thought it would be easy to locate but hours pass and the sun is soon up and fully awake and PB has found no sign of the trail. His stomach sits empty and angry inside of him and he soon gives up on the trail and begins to hike in what he believes may be the right direction, whatever that means. Hope is starting to elude him. Hunger eats away at him but even worse is the thirst.
He rests periodically, collapsing mid step and sitting there in the dirt until he can force himself forward again. The rests begin to happen more and more frequently as the terrain slopes upward. PB is barely conscious that he is headed up into the hills. He has no plan or thoughts of any kind really, his mind a blank.
Be touches his dry tongue to his dry lips and thinks that he hears the sounds of a stream around the bend. When he comes around the trees he finds rock and dirt but no water. He continues up the slope and thinks he hears the sounds of a falls coming from the peak above. He climbs up the rocks and roots that are jutting out of the earth until he can drag himself up to the shelf where he hears the water flowing from. It takes all his energy and remaining strength to get there and he is only disappointed to find it dry as well.
He occurs to him that his mind is playing tricks on him and can only continue to wander along the plateau. The sun beams down on him relentlessly and he feels light headed and weak. He staggers between a group of Panderosa Pines and realizes he has reached the top of one the granite dombs. The rock slants down steeply next to him and he looks out on the valley, vast and green before him. PB stares out at it's beauty and wonders if he has lived a good life. His main regret is that he couldn't help Sam. Although meeting her and getting involved in the search for her brother was most likely going to lead to his death, PB feels no resentment towards her, only regret. For all he knows she is dead as well.
He needs to rest again and PB begins to lean down so he can stretch out and wait to die when he loses his footing and is suddenly sliding down the rock face. He tries to reach for a root sticking out of the rock so he can stop his slide but it rips out and now he is tumbling head over heels down the rock. He come to a drop off and now he is out in space, like he was when he jumped off the cliff during the bear attack. His mind flashes with the question of what was the point of his miraculously surviving that jump only to die now, alone, thirsty and hungry and devoid of hope.
Before he can get an answer he's landed, crashing through thickets and loose wood after only falling fifteen feet from the drop off. A tree finally ends the journey when he smashes into it square on. He lies in the leaves and dirt and waits to die, which could be a while based on the fact that he doesn't seem to be mortally wounded. He feels deep scrapes along both of his hips, down his legs and arms, and he's pretty sure one of his ribs broke when he hit the tree.
There's a stick digging into his back so PB slowly rolls over to get free of it and suddenly finds himself looking into the two frosted eyeballs of the Russian's severed head, lying there on the forest floor next to him only a few feet away.
To be continued December 2nd 2011.
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