The Mountain King Page 10

  “Too damned close for comfort,” Mark whispered.

  He brushed rock grit from his gloves and heaved a deep sigh as he sat down on his heels. A sheen of cold sweat sprinkled his forehead.

  Is this how it’s going to be? he wondered.

  He sure as hell wasn’t going to get anything accomplished if he had to hide under a rocky overhang all day, with a helicopter buzzing like an angry hornet around his head.

  How many men are up here?

  From what he’d overheard those two say, there might be a lot.

  And who are they looking for—Phil or me?

  Anger and frustration choked Mark. He had covered most of the southern and eastern flanks of Agiochook above the tree line yesterday; he had planned to cover the steeper, more treacherous western and northern sides today and tomorrow. So far he hadn’t found even the slightest indication of a trail left by Phil; but if this search party was looking for him instead of his friend, he would have to alter his plans. He might have to wait here until dark before moving, and unless there was enough moonlight to see by, hiking down after dark was going to be a very dangerous proposition.

  For now, though, he had a full canteen and a few trail snacks in the day bag slung over his shoulder. And he had his rifle, and plenty of ammunition if he needed it, but—damn it!—hiding here wasn’t going to get him anywhere!

  Mark sat back against the cold rock, his legs stretched out in front of him. There was nothing to do except wait until sunset, when the man said the officials wanted everyone off the mountain. But he couldn’t stop wondering what those men were doing out here—and how long they would be doing it. His plans were completely screwed up, but at least right now, he had plenty of time to think about what to do next.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Attack

  For the past two days, Sandy had been in a state of sustained, absolute panic. She had watched the TV news reports, read all the newspaper articles, talked to and overheard people talking downtown, and fretted about what was going to happen to her father. Although the police hadn’t officially charged him with the murder of Dennis Cross, she didn’t see how they could do otherwise. It was just a matter of time, now that the investigators had finished their careful examination of the area where Dennis had been killed. Of course, the police hadn’t told her the results of their work; but as far as Sandy could tell, her father was in a heap of trouble.

  Polly was no help at all to Sandy. Their relationship had always been strained, at best. Under this new pressure, it broke completely. They continued to live in the same house, but most of the time they both acted as if the other one wasn’t even there. They ate their meals separately and didn’t even bother to speak to each other when they chanced to meet. Polly had declined to go to Dennis’s funeral, and went off to work every day as if everything was just fine ... as if Dennis’s horrible death in her own backyard had been no more serious than a flat tire. She spent quite a bit of time down at the police station, no doubt being questioned about that night, Sandy assumed; but just like the police, Polly wasn’t telling her a thing about what was going on.

  That left Sandy in a complete vacuum, wondering if her father was even still alive up there on the mountain.

  Throughout the school day on Wednesday, Sandy felt agitated and tense. Her social studies teacher, Mr. Ives, talked to her after class, expressing his concern that the tension of everything was taking too great a toll on her. She insisted that she was bearing up quite well, considering the circumstances, and that she didn’t want to miss any school if only to keep her mind occupied with something else. The truth was, she didn’t even dare to talk about how bad she was feeling with her best friend, Karen Bishop, because she was afraid she might let something slip about how she had arranged a meeting place with her father. Although the cheerleading tryouts were tomorrow, and she knew she should stay for practice, she took the early bus home right after school.

  Polly wasn’t home; she was either at work or down at the police station again. Of course she couldn’t have been bothered to leave a note. Just as well. Sandy hurriedly packed the food, clothes, and ammunition her father wanted, got into the Jeep, and headed up Route 26 to the Round Top Trail.

  The drive up Route 26 was almost intolerable. Sandy was tempted to nudge the Jeep over the 45 mph speed limit, but she didn’t want to be pulled over by a cop and have to explain where she was going in such a hurry with food supplies and rifle ammunition. By the time she got to the base of the Round Top Trail, the sun had shifted behind a bank of clouds. The forest was cast into a dark green, gloomy silence.

  She pulled to a stop in the same place she had stopped the time before. Leaning over the steering wheel, she stared intently up at the trail, looking for the first indication that her father was on his way down. She was running a little late and had been hoping he would already be here.

  “Come on, Dad! Jesus Christ! Where the hell are you?”

  She drummed her fingertips on the dashboard in a frantic beat. The tall trees seemed to lean inward, pressing around her like a steadily tightening fist. Gusts of wind hit the side of the Jeep and whistled through the narrow slit of open window.

  Sandy kept glancing back and forth between her watch and the trail. Seconds stretched into minutes, and still there was no sign of her father.

  What if they’ve already found him and taken him off to jail? she wondered.

  Or what if he’s had an accident, fallen down and hurt himself?

  He had told her the nights had been really cold up there. What if he was sick, or had frozen to death?

  “Come on, Dad! Where the hell are you?”

  The chilled air penetrated the Jeep, so she started up the engine and turned on the heater. But even with hot air blasting into her face, she shivered as she stared up at the dark green forest.

  What the hell was happening up there?

  “Jesus Christ, Dad! Don’t do this to me! Don’t do this!”

  She revved the Jeep’s engine, letting it whine like an overheating drill. Finally, unable to stand the winding tension any longer, she pressed her fist down hard on the horn. At first, she gave it just a few quick beeps; then she leaned on it with her elbow and kept it blaring for as long as her nerves could stand it.

  What if one of Dennis Cross’s friends has shot him?

  What if they chased him and he fell off a cliff and broke both legs?

  What if some wild animal attacked him and ripped him to pieces, like what happened to Dennis?

  Sandy’s body was trembling as she double-checked her seat belt, slammed the gear shift into reverse, and backed out of her parking spot. The tires splattered dirt against the underside of the Jeep’s chassis, sounding like hail on a tin roof. Sandy wheeled the Jeep around and drove out onto the dirt road. All the while, her elbow was pressed down on the horn as she jockeyed the steering wheel back and forth to stay on the road.

  Tears filled her eyes, and she kept up a steady pattern of long and short beeps on the horn as she drove down the dirt road until it abruptly ended. There wasn’t enough room for her to turn around, so, looking over her shoulder, she backed up to the parking area again, turned around, and started down the road in the other direction. If her father was anywhere nearby, he’d have to hear the horn and know that she was waiting for him.

  The tires skidded in the loose dirt as she raced a few hundred yards down the road, turned around, and came back to the parking area. Then she stopped again and stared up at the trail. When she still didn’t see any sign of activity, she laid down hard on the horn again, letting it wail for a good two or three minutes.

  “Where the hell are you?” she shouted as hot tears gushed from her eyes. “If you don’t show up soon, I’m going to lose it completely, I swear to God I will!”

  At that instant, something slammed into the side of the Jeep on the passenger’s side, hitting it hard enough to rock the Jeep back and forth on its suspension.

  Sandy’s head banged against her window. Gasp
ing for breath, she looked to her right and saw a face flattened against the window on the passenger’s side. Foamy saliva and steaming breath smeared the glass, distorting her view, so in the first jolt of terror, all she could see was some kind of animal. Dark, glowing eyes framed by a furry face and shadowed by a sloping brow stared in at her with fierce anger. The creature’s thick, black lips peeled back to expose a row of long, white teeth. Through the glass, Sandy could hear the creature roar loudly as it swung its arm back and slammed it against the Jeep door.

  The impact was astounding. The metal of the door folded in like a tin can. Paralyzed by fear, Sandy sat there watching the beast, absolutely unable to react.

  Again, the creature cocked back one arm and slammed a clenched fist against the Jeep. This time it hit the window like a sledgehammer. Broken glass exploded inward and hit Sandy’s face like a blast of shotgun pellets. Sharp edges of glass stung her face and arms, and she screamed so loud and high her voice broke until the only sound coming out was a thin, wheezing whistle. With an angry snort, the creature reached in through the broken window, its huge, flat hand clawing frantically at the car seat, slicing the seat cover and removing huge chunks of the foam stuffing.

  At that instant, Sandy’s instinct for survival kicked in.

  She jerked the gear shift into reverse and stepped down hard on the accelerator. Dirt spewed from underneath its tires as the Jeep lunged backward with enough momentum to throw the creature clear. The huge, furry shape tumbled over several times and then lay still on the ground, its arms and legs splayed wide.

  Sandy wiped her face with the back of her arm. Numbed by shock and surprise, she stared at the thin smear of blood, only distantly aware that it was her blood. When she looked back at the creature, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing when it raised its head and, looking dazed and angry, got up slowly. Staring at her, it let loose a wild roar as it pounded its chest.

  Whimpering softly under her breath, Sandy did a quick turnaround. The Jeep heaved to one side, skidding dangerously before righting itself and speeding out of the parking area. In its wake, it left a thin blue haze of exhaust.

  Sandy was barely able to maintain control of the vehicle as she drove down the dirt road, weaving dangerously from side to side. She furiously wiped the tears and blood from her face, unable to believe that any of this was really happening. Her breath was a ball of fire in the center of her chest as she focused straight ahead on the winding road.

  It had to have been a bear or something, she tried to convince herself. It couldn’t have been what it had looked like! ... But what the hell had it looked like?

  She sure as hell knew that there weren’t any apes in the forest, but that was what she had seen. It had looked as big as King Kong. If she needed any corroborating evidence, all she had to do was look at the smashed window and the dented passenger’s door.

  And those eyes! That creature had glared at her with a cruel animal intelligence!

  Even under the best of circumstances, the road from the Round Top Trail to Route 26 was curvy and treacherous. Nearly blind with panic and tears, Sandy was driving much faster than was safe. Her hands ached from the tight grip she had on the steering wheel as she struggled to keep the careening Jeep on the road.

  Even so, she wasn’t ready for the hairpin turn.

  It came up on her before she knew it. With a high, shrill scream, she jerked the steering wheel hard to the right, but it was already too late. The front right tire went over the soft shoulder of the road, and before she could recover, the Jeep roared down over the steep embankment and slammed into a stand of pine trees. Metal and glass exploded everywhere. Her seat belt kept her from flying through the windshield, but her head slammed—hard—against the steering wheel. The darkness behind her eyes erupted with spinning white stars, and then the darkness sucked her down. . . .

  Seconds ... minutes ... hours later, Sandy came to.

  As soon as she opened her eyes, a stinging jolt of pain gripped her entire body. She looked up and saw the trees and cloudy sky spinning overhead in a wild smear of green and gray. She drifted far away from herself and seemed to be detached from her body as she looked down at herself, suspended over the dashboard, hanging from her seat belt like a torn rag doll.

  Waves of blackness crashed inside her head, getting steadily stronger and threatening to suck her back under as she weakly raised her head and looked out of the Jeep. She wasn’t even sure which window she was facing. All around her, the forest was silent except for the distant sound of birdsong. The loudest sound was her own breathing—deep and raspy, sounding as if her head were encased in a deep sea diver’s helmet.

  The darkness inside her head roared louder.

  The last thing she remembered before surrendering to that blackness was staring in horror as what looked like dozens of hulking, shadowy figures appeared from out of the forest and started moving slowly toward her wrecked Jeep.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Blood Spoor

  What the hell’s going on?

  In the distance, Mark could hear the blaring of an automobile horn, echoing through the dense forest.

  Maybe it’s Sandy. It must be Sandy!

  He glanced at his watch and realized how late he was, but there was nothing he could have done about it. He had been delayed because of having to avoid several of the search parties that seemed to be swarming all over the mountain. Sandy must have been waiting too long and was getting impatient.

  No matter what the situation might be, Mark was still quite a way up the trail and knew he couldn’t get down there fast enough.

  Unslinging his rifle and gripping it tightly, he started running down the trail, no longer even trying to conceal himself from anyone who might be looking for him. His boots skidded and scuffed on the hardpacked trail, and it took a great deal of effort not to lose his footing or gain too much speed on the steep down slope.

  “Hold on! I’m coming, Sandy!” he shouted, knowing—if it was her—there was no way she could hear him from this far away. The horn—and it definitely sounded like the Jeep’s horn—continued to blast.

  Then—suddenly—it cut off.

  Oh, shit!

  Mark was running so fast everything around him was a dark green blur except for the slick dirt trail under his feet. His breath came hot and fast, burning in his throat. Wind whistled in his ears, blocking out every other sound until he heard a vehicle’s engine roaring loudly. He redoubled his efforts and considered dropping his rifle so he could run even faster, but if there was trouble, he might need it.

  The thin trail stretched out in front of him, seemingly endless as it wound through the thick pine trees that crowded all around.

  The noise from down at the trail head got steadily louder. Mark bolted his rifle, chambering a bullet, and snapped off the safety when he heard what sounded like the shattering of glass and the harsh scraping sound of tires peeling out in the dirt.

  “Sandy!” he shouted, waving one arm wildly above his head as he broke out of the woods just in time to see the Jeep zip out of sight around the bend in the road. A thin haze of blue exhaust hovered in the air like fog.

  It was Sandy, and she must have been in some kind of trouble.

  It didn’t take Mark long to find out what it was.

  With a thundering roar, the creature sprang at him

  from the trail side. Mark spun around and dropped into a defensive crouch as he brought the rifle to bear on the creature, but it was coming at him too fast for him to get a shot off. In a blur of brown fur and flashing claws, the creature slammed into Mark, knocking him off his feet. His forefinger involuntarily squeezed the trigger, and the rifle went off with an ear-splitting crack when he hit the ground. The recoil knocked the rifle from his hands. A split second later, a wide, flat paw swatted at him, just missing his face as it whistled past his ear. The creature’s momentum carried it a good twenty feet past him before it stopped and wheeled around.

  Mark’s mind was paraly
zed with fear as he scrambled backward, reaching for his rifle. He got it and stood up. His hands fumbled to chamber another round as the creature came at him again, its eyes blazing with fury as it raised its arms high above its head.

  “Jesus Christ!” Mark yelled, unable to believe what he was seeing.

  He instantly recognized the creature as the same thing he had seen on the mountain the day Phil had fallen off The Zipper. Although he hadn’t gotten a clear view of it then or later that night, when it had attacked him at his campfire, it sure as hell was the same tiling. Since coming down off the mountain, Mark had tried to deny what he thought he had seen; but now, in the bright glare of sunlight, this creature was real. Terrifyingly real! There was no way it could be a figment of his imagination!

  But these fragmentary thoughts filled his mind in a confused rush; his only clear thought was that he had to get at least one clean shot off. As the creature charged him again, bellowing like an enraged bull, Mark couldn’t stop his hands from shaking enough to chamber the bullet. At the last instant, out of sheer desperation, he cocked the rifle back onto his shoulder like a baseball bat, crouched and timed his swing, and then, grunting viciously, swung it around in a swift arc just as the creature came within range.