I dropped to the ground, below the guy’s line of sight. I lost my footing on the loose rocks, sending a cascade of pebbles tumbling down the hill behind me. Falling heavily to my hands and knees, a jolt of pain shot upward from my knees to my hips.
“Damn,” I blurted. Thoughts of being shot out here crossed my mind. I stayed on my hands and knees for several long seconds, my heart pounding from the climb, and now racing even faster as I considered my situation.
If the man on the ridge intended to come after me, I couldn’t stay here. I was an easy unarmed target. Being unarmed probably put me in the minority in this state. And certainly going back down the slope wouldn’t improve my situation. He would still hold the high ground and be able to see me down there. So, staying in a crouched position, I quickly duck-walked several dozen paces to my left until finding the cover of a thick growth of trees. I then cautiously continued my climb upward toward the ridge, picking my way through the trees, walking quietly on the carpet of pine needles. I crawled the last dozen paces, and then got down on my stomach to peer over the ridge. I looked quickly right where the guy had been, and then left and back to the right. There was no one.
Had I imagined it? The day was hot. The sun’s glare was in my eyes. I was breathing hard and sweating profusely from the climb. But no, I had not imagined it. Someone had been there.
I scrambled over the ridge, staying low. Still no one. Then I stood and walked along the ridge to where he had been. No one. But the ground was disturbed, suggesting someone had just been there. Now that there appeared to be no immediate danger, I breathed out loudly. The pressure that had built up in my chest eased, and the adrenaline rush gradually subsided. Maybe the guy wasn’t a threat. After all, I was unharmed, and now alone again. Feeling a bit foolish, I sat down until my breathing settled, and then took some long pulls on a bottle of water.
I looked one more time over the ridge. All was quiet. So I climbed back down toward the rim of the cliff. After a few minutes of careful searching, I found a few widely spaced spots of disturbed ground leading from the forest on my right and directly to the cliff on my left. This could be the route the dead guy down below had taken. Nothing lay on the ground that he might have dropped, no backpack, no water bottle. But his trail was now disturbed by my scramble up the slope to the ridge beyond. I had unintentionally messed some more with the Deputy’s crime scene. So be it.
By now, it probably had been over a half hour since my call to the deputy, so I could be expecting company soon. I placed a small pyramid of stones near the runner’s trail to mark the area. Climbing back down the slope, with all the loose rocks under foot, I had to concentrate on each step to avoid a face-first tumble. Instead of a face-first fall, I twice landed hard on my butt when the loose surface slipped away from under my feet. After reaching the bottom, I settled in a shady spot near the cliff face to cool off, wiped the sweat from my face, and finished drinking my bottle of water.
After several minutes, with no appearance of the Deputy, I grew bored with waiting and walked back over toward the body. I retraced my previous track, stepping in my own footprints. The vulture was gone. He must have gone in search of a different meal. Or perhaps this body wasn’t yet ripe enough to suit him.
But something was wrong. There was no sound of buzzing flies. That buzzing had been the sound that originally drew me over here. I stopped where my earlier trail of footprints ended. This was the place. I saw the small pool of blood on the ground. But the body was gone.