He left the man kneeling among the rocks. Tim decided he deserved the worst so let him suffer. He gathered his things and the M-16, and set out for the Walls.
*
As he traveled farther into the mountains the going became a little easier. The trails he knew by heart were still partially there. He had to take many detours, but the earthquake had done less damage up higher. Many rocks had rolled down the slopes, but the ground didn’t have the cracks and wrinkles like down below. The valleys were full of debris, so he stayed more to the middle ground, but not so far up that he made himself visible against the skyline. Besides, there were still aftershocks, and the bottom didn’t seem like the safest place to be.
He walked until a little after dark before stopping to rest. It was impossible to sleep because he couldn’t find a place to lie down without a rock sticking him somewhere. He was about to light a fire, then decided against it. The Ear-man was probably not alone, and he’d had enough excitement already.
A campfire was visible among the rocks a mile below him. He decided that farther up would be safer. It was possible there were more people and they might be after him.
From his new position he could see numerous figures moving around the campfire he had sighted earlier. He hoped the Ear-man was seriously hurt or dead. He remembered the look on the man’s face and prayed silently. I hope I never see that nasty bastard ever again. At least he had the M-16. It would improve his chances considerably if they caught up to him.
*
Tim started out a couple of hours before dawn.
The farther from the creeps, the better. He moved in a slightly different direction which would cause him to enter the Walls from the top instead of the bottom. He was also careful not to leave a trail. It made the going a little slower, but now that he knew what he was up against he would play it smart. If they were going to pursue him, he wasn’t going to make it easy for them.
The Eastern sky began to lighten as another day was about to begin. There was a pile of rocks at the top of the slope he was climbing. From the boulders he would be able to survey the spot he had spent most of the night. He would soon know if he was being hunted, and if so, by how many. It was still quite dark when he slid into the rocks and settled down. He drank some water and started to peel an orange. Before he was half done he saw them. Two lights appeared as sharp beacons in the dim light of the coming dawn. They were much farther up the ridge than he would have figured.
If I hadn’t moved when I did. The thought made him shiver.
The change in direction was also a smart move. If he had continued to the bottom of the Walls, the men would have seen him as he entered the canyon.
Tim continued to watch the two figures. As it got light he was able to see that they were two men both carrying rifles with scopes. He scanned the terrain back where they had come from and sighted three more. The second group was about where he would have expected to see someone this early. This group was made up of two more men and a woman. One of the men looked like he had something wrapped around his neck.
“If things don’t go my way I might be headed for a really bad day,” Tim mumbled under his breath.
From where he was he had about half a mile to cover to the backside of the Walls. He would need all the speed he could muster so he dropped everything but the M-16, the small pack with water, some food, and the pistol. He would have to fetch the rest after it got dark. The scoped rifles the men were carrying were going to make it difficult to travel the remaining distance to the canyon.
He beelined it staying as low as possible. Running was difficult. He also tried to dodge to make a harder target and to stay behind as much cover as possible.
Only halfway to the Walls and already he was winded, but he couldn’t afford to slow down. When he was three-fourths of the way, he finally crapped out—his muscles aching and his lungs gasping for air. He didn’t see how he could make it all the way without stopping, but with only two hundred feet left he ran out of cover. He had no choice now. Tim pushed himself with all the strength remaining in his tortured body. He rushed to the edge of the canyon and threw himself down among the small rocks laying on the rim.
“So far, so good,” he gasped.
He lay still for a couple of minutes trying to regain his breath. He was safe for the time being. From this spot he had only a few feet to go to enter the top of the Walls. He was thankful to be on the West side of the canyon because the climb down was much easier here than the other side. The East side, in many places, was a sheer drop straight to the bottom.
*
As Tim tried to regain his strength to make the descent, the lead men reached the bottom end of the canyon. They had seen Tim racing toward the top end of the gorge, but had not been able to get a good shot. There was no hurry, though, because they were sure they had the kid fairly well trapped. They had radios and were communicating with their people behind them. The rear group was swinging to the top end of the canyon to cut the kid off and trap him in. Their partner would join them soon and he wanted revenge. His throat was hurting him badly and Johnson was a mean bastard even when he was feeling good. They were really looking forward to this because the last three days had been the high point in their fruitless lives.
*
From where he was Tim had a steep decline into the canyon, but there were many cracks and ledges for hand and foot holds. There was plenty of cover also and Tim stayed in the shadows as he made his way to the bottom. His knowledge of the Walls would help him now. The bottom was a series of small waterfalls and dry, sandy pools with numerous smaller canyons, cliffs and boulders. He knew exactly where he wanted to go and it would be difficult to corner him there. He had the M-16, and his destination would protect him on three sides. The fourth side—their only possible approach—was no more than two feet wide. Any adversary would have a steep, twenty-foot climb on smooth rock just to get sight of Tim’s hideaway.
The two men in the front group separated. One stayed on the East side making his way along the ledges on the top rim of the Walls. The second one continued on the West side staying close to the bottom. The man on the top found a spot and waited. His location afforded him a view down the center of most of the canyon and his wait paid off quickly. From out of the shadows Tim appeared.
Tim was about to jump the last few feet to the bottom when something struck him hard in the thigh, accompanied by a loud bang. The force spun him around and propelled him ten feet through the air. He landed hard in the sand, out of the shooter’s sight. Blood gushed from Tim’s thigh and a dull pain started. He watched in horror as the sand below his leg turned red with his own blood. He quickly pulled off his shirt and wrapped it tightly around the wound.
“Son of a bitch! This thing is getting ridiculous,” Tim exclaimed. He knew he couldn’t stay where he was because he was sure they were converging on him. If he didn’t get to his destination quickly it would all be over in short order.
He hobbled across the sandy pool. At least the bone wasn’t broken, and he could still make good time. He got to the other side and slid down the smooth rock into the pool below. He was moving toward the men, but the safety he was seeking was in that direction. One more pool down there was a fracture in the rock wall leading up to a ledge that was protected from above by an overhang. The ledge was protected on both sides by the fracture. The only way up to the ledge was the crack, and the only way to ascend the crack was using the wooden steps he had put there. Tim made the steps two years ago by wedging four-by-fours in the crack. The boards were attached to each other by a rope. Once a person had climbed the boards and was on the ledge, they simply pulled the boards up after themselves and no one could follow. He had devised the refuge in one of his daydreams. In the daydream he was being pursued by a nasty bunch of Indians, and this was his escape plan. He hoped his childish invention might just save his almost-adult ass.
As he reached the slide that went into the pool with the sanctuary, he spotted one of the men making hi
s way along a ledge almost to the top of the East wall. The man was in plain view. Tim took aim with the M-16 and fired a shot. The bullet hit wide of the target, ricocheting off the rock next to the man who jumped back against the rock wall. Tim took aim again. It wasn’t necessary because the man had lost his balance. Tim watched in fascination as the man tried to balance on one foot. He grabbed, panic stricken, to get a hold of anything to prevent his fall, but it was no good. He finally toppled over and with a scream began to fall to the bottom.
From there it was a straight fall of at least a hundred feet to the rocky bottom. The man would do more than just hurt himself. He was now out of the game. The scream ended with a thud.
Tim heard a helicopter approaching from the valley below. He also heard some shouting from the canyon’s rim where he had started his own descent.
Man those guys are moving fast.
A shout came from where the unfortunate man had landed. They were closing the gap.
The sound of the chopper was loud now. Apparently his pursuers had been spotted because the helo came racing up the canyon. Shots rang out as the chopper shot over the pool Tim was in. It pulled up sharply and skimmed over the East rim of the canyon and out of sight. Tim recognized the helicopter as a Cobra Gun-Ship. From what he had read, and what Arty had told him, the men shooting at it were fools.
It was hard to tell what the machine was doing because the mountains and canyon dispersed the sound. One moment it sounded far off. The next it was zipping back down the canyon. Tim saw a brilliant sparkle from under its nose as it closed the distance. A terrible ripping sound came from across the canyon and down a little ways. The sound traveled back toward the gun-ship and sounded like an electronic fart. The ship whipped past him and continued down the canyon. Then it shot up over the West rim and was gone again. It came back into view as it climbed high into the sky and made a large, gentle turn. After it had turned 180 degrees the nose dropped and it started back down. Its nose pointed at the far side of the canyon and smoke gushed out of both sides of the machine. About a dozen small, thin objects streaked down at tremendous speed, striking the other side of the canyon part of the way up the slope. Many explosions shook the Walls. The helo pulled up again and went high where it circled three times and headed back toward the valley below. Tim shouted and waved, but it apparently went unnoticed by the helicopter crew. He was too deep in the shadows to be seen from above.
The bleeding in his thigh seemed to have stopped somewhat, but the pain was increasing and he was bordering on exhaustion and shock. He made his way to the slide and slipped down to the next pool below coming to rest in the sand. This was the final pool. If he could make it up those steps he would be safe and could rest. He hobbled across the pool using the M-16 as a crutch.
When he got to the other side his heart sank. The crack was wider than before, and the wooden steps were now lying in the sand. There would be no way to get to the protection above.
The fissure was not only wider, but also much deeper in the rock than it had been before the quake. A soft blue light came from the deeper part of the crack and prevented him from seeing all the way inside. As he stepped farther into the opening he noticed a strange smell. It was hard to identify, but somewhat familiar. He had smelled it before, but where? A soft humming came out of the fissure, though he wasn’t sure if he was hearing it or feeling it. He moved farther in and tried to see what was causing the blue light, but it formed a haze that his eyes couldn’t focus on. His whole body was tingling, and the sensation was getting stronger.
Finally he remembered the smell. Back in Wisconsin, in the dead of winter, the temperature would get as low as minus 40. When it got that cold this was how it smelled. Arty had once explained that it was too cold to smell anything. That’s what it smelled like in the fissure—nothing, totally clean, sterile.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
His little refuge in the Walls was spoiled. He had to find a place to rest and think, someplace safe. He summoned up enough courage to continue into the crack. He was about to take another step when he heard a noise behind him. He turned quickly. Ear-man was standing thirty feet away with a shotgun pointed directly at him. Ear-man was covered with blood and dirt and his left arm hung useless at his side. The man had a crazed look on his face, and Tim knew he had probably bought the farm.
Tim jerked the M-16 up as fast as he could. Both guns fired simultaneously. Something hit Tim in the chest, and it felt like a truck. He was propelled violently deeper into the fissure. There was a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, and he was falling. He hit the ground with a sharp jolt and came to rest on his back. He opened his eyes, but could only see brilliant blue light all around him. It was like being inside the light itself. A terrible stab of pain went through his chest every time he tried to take a breath. He needed air, but it was too painful to draw it in. He tried repeatedly, but the pain was just too intense. He could feel his chest getting tighter and tighter, the pain increasing all the time.
The humming was building in his ears and a tingling in his hands and feet. The tingling began to move through his hands and feet and up into his arms and legs. The aching in his chest was unbearable. The tingling continued to move up his extremities. The pain in his chest was so bad he felt himself slipping toward unconsciousness. He fought to stay alert, but his arms and legs were numb. The tingling moved into his torso. He knew he was dying.
Everything I ever hoped for is now impossible.
The tingling moved across his chest and started to mask the awful pain.
He thought about his mother, Arty, Ann. The once happy family was just about gone now, and soon not even a trace would be left.
Ann, what’s going to happen to her? I’m never going to know. She’s going to wonder what happened to me. . .if she gets better, but there will never be any answers for her. I just disappeared with no trace. How long will she wonder, if she ever does? So much for being a survivor, because all the struggles of the past few days were for nothing.
The tingling in his chest had replaced the pain.
What a blessing.
He felt like he was getting lighter and his body was floating away. The pain had been replaced by pleasure.
So this is death?
He had heard that people who were revived after dying often described euphoria. They described death as pleasurable. It was true. Death was not to be feared.
He started to move in a shaft of light, sideways he thought, but he wasn’t sure.
As long as it isn’t down. If it starts getting hot, I’m in a world of shit.
When he stopped moving, a shadow appeared over him. It was an object, he was sure, but he couldn’t see past the light surrounding him. The light began to shimmer and fade as small balls of colored light began to form and dart around. They continued to form and get bigger. There were hundreds. There were colors he had never seen before. They were, so bright, so vivid, so peaceful, and yet, so exciting. The orbs of light started to circle closer and closer. Then some of them began to rush at him, and some went right through his body. They were telling him he didn’t physically exist anymore.
That’s it.
He was still Tim, but only the thinking Tim and not a physical being. He could feel nothing. He could only think.
Many times he had pondered about what life was. Why did he possess it? What was the difference between living and not living? Until now there had been no way to define life. He understood the basics of biology and chemistry, and how they were responsible for his body being able to function as it did, but the workings of the brain and what made him Tim were a complete mystery. The greatest minds of all times had not figured it out. Modern man with all his knowledge and his super computers was still not even close.
Now Tim understood because it was so simple. Before his body had hindered his mind. His body needed constant attention. Breathing, motions, and all the rest of the functions necessary to sustain his life were controlled by his brain. His emoti
ons, good and bad that were part of his day-to-day living were a direct response to his surroundings and he had to deal with them. They clogged his brain with uncertainty. In addition, he was constantly assailed by decisions. He had to make them, whether right or wrong, and there was no escape. It was a staggering task that took a good share of the brain’s time and, most importantly, its focus. Now his body was gone and all the conflicts were irrelevant. His mind was free. Everything was so clear and simple now.
The experience was beyond all description. He wanted it to last forever, but his awareness began to fade. He tried desperately to remain conscious, but the energy that was life was draining out of him. He knew he could not stop the darkness from overtaking him.
Fifteen years just wasn’t long enough, was his last thought.
Chapter 5
Mr. V & Me
There is a total blackness so complete it is beyond description. It is a total vacuum, a complete void. Nothing exists there except an intelligent, conscious thought. The Thought is aware it is completely alone. The Thought surmises that, although there is nothing else, the fact that it exists means that there is something. It understands what something is and that it has deduced this pleases it. What it is, it does not know, but it is more than just something, it has to be. Its first emotion has surfaced, but it doesn’t quite understand psyche yet. It is more important than the nothingness that surrounds it. It decides it is the center of everything. Now it understands ego.
I am something, the Thought decides. Splendid.
The Thought is pleased with itself and now it understands psyche. It thinks there has to be more, but the Thought has no concept of energy, motion, substance, or time. Nothing is all it has ever experienced. Because it has no notion of time, becoming aware has no meaning to it. It isn’t confused because there is no information so there can be no contradictions. The Thought is just pure intelligence, like a computer that works perfectly, but has nothing in its memory banks.