Thirty minutes after leaving the truck behind Daniel was convinced he’d started up the wrong rills in the mountain’s foot. I should have found a stream by now, he thought. Yet little signs were available that any regular flow of water other than runoff flowed through the path he was following.
He leaned against a large maple that had, as yet, not lost quite all of its leaves, to ponder. Closing his eyes he tried to replay the vision he had seen earlier in the night. Over, a raspy voice said quietly in his mind. It took him by such surprise he had to look about to see if anyone had actually been following him. As he did he could see that the side of the valley in which he stood to his right was very steep and climbing more sharply than that of the ridge to his left. The valley had been traveling mostly south-east during the last several minutes and suddenly seemed clear to Daniel that he hadn’t gone over enough rises to get into the canyon where the stream flowed.
Over, he went. Climbing the steep hill and looking into the next valley Daniel heard the distinguished sound of water rushing over small stones and drops. The rain had fed the stream well and it was nearly a raging river. He half climbed and half slid through the mud to the valley floor. Peeling back the near-bare branches of a few aged maples and some youthful aspen trees he saw the stream glimmering in what little light there was to be found. It was a welcome sight. He imagined Ray was standing on a precipice up the stream waving and blowing him kisses. He’d done it. He’d found the route to hunt down the monster and bring Rachel back.