PRIME EVIL FOREST - Death on the Mountain
Chapters 39 - 43
NOTE: This is a longer section of Prime Evil Forest, because it seemed to fit together as a prolonged moment in the novel. Perhaps I’m also getting a sense of momentum as we move towards the end. These chapters seal the fate of a couple of key characters, one of whom I feely oddly sympathetic towards. Given that the remainder of the novel is similar in length, I think I’ll run those chapters together too, making this the penultimate post. So - look out for the end of the novel this time next week. To those of you who’ve followed it, I’d love to hear any thoughts in the comments. Thank you for reading!
39.
TUESDAY, APRIL 12, 3.30AM
The sky was lightening a little, but it held no warmth. Up on the high slopes, without the trees, the wind blew harder. Javier’s body was numb. He could barely feel the fingers which gripped the rifle. But it didn’t matter, now.
The man had walked a little way from the trees, then sat down behind a rock. Before he had, Javier had seen that it was the first man from the fire. The one who’d wanted very badly to kill him. He knew he’d shot the other one, the stupid one who’d laughed. He didn’t think he’d hurt him badly. That was a shame. Maybe the cops had him now.
Javier watched the man through his scope. He could see a part of his head and right shoulder. He considered firing, but the rounds were precious. He didn’t want to miss.
Something else was making him wait. He wasn’t ready to end this yet. There was no need to rush, in his own place. It felt wrong to finish it so soon - like breaking the rules of a ceremony.
He wanted to know more before he killed this man.
And he wanted to see more, too. From where he was lying, the mountain reared up behind him like a blade. It was one of the peaks Javier had seen every day from the camp. One of the ones that he stared at, whenever he could. Maybe now he’d get to see the top. That might be a good place for this. He’d always known that he’d reach it one day.
He saw a light in the man’s hand – a phone, he realized. After that, it was like something had stung the guy. He thrashed around behind the rock and screamed. Javier’s heart sank. A rattlesnake, he thought. Something else? That wasn’t fair.
But then the man was on his feet, and shouting for him to come out.
Javier stood up slowly. He aimed the rifle at the man’s feet and worked a round into the chamber with the bolt. The man saw him, hitting the ground as Javier fired. Through the scope, shards of rock sprayed up like fat silver sparks.
The man was behind the rock again. Javier turned. Ahead of him was a long, narrow ridge that climbed steeply up. He could see that before too long there would be cliffs either side of it. He set off quickly up the rocky ground towards it, showing the man his back. Come and get me, motherfucker.
40.
TUESDAY, APRIL 12, 4.30AM
Lock and Foley were almost on top of the guy who’d fired at them when he threw himself into a gorge, slipping and sliding down its side and disappearing out of sight.
They paused at its lip, looking down after him. The forest ended abruptly where they stood, the gorge at their feet feeding into a wide canyon below. At the bottom, a creek ran across it, its path marked by dense, sprouting vegetation. Across the chasm was the higher ground of Josephine Peak, and to the west, the sloping bulk of Mount Gleason. A rim of pale light was just beginning to appear above it.
The two of them listened out carefully, watching for signs of movement. Nothing. The guy had gone to ground.
‘What you think?’ Lock asked Foley.
‘He’ll have gone north,’ Foley pointed. ‘Towards the canyon. He’ll go to ground in there.’
Lock thought for a moment. ‘There’s a path,’ he said. ‘Fifty yards or so down. It runs all the way to the Tujunga Fire Road.’
‘You think he’ll find it?’
‘All he’s gotta do is keep going down,’ Lock said. ‘Once he hits it, he’ll most likely figure it goes somewhere other than the canyon, and turn south.’
‘Shit,’ Foley replied, peering down the drop. ‘Then we need to get on to it first.’
The two of them jogged south a little way, looking for a shallow climb down the canyon wall. When they found one, they swung onto it and gripped the chaparral to work their way down. Before long they hit the path; a rough hiking trail cut hard up against the chalky cliffs.
They paused, crouched in the darkness, listening out.
‘He didn’t make it past here already,’ Foley whispered. ‘I’d say he’s between us and the canyon floor.’
‘If he went down there, we’ve lost him for tonight,’ Lock said.
Foley gestured, and they set off down the path, moving slowly.
They’d reached a sharp bend where the path hit a jutting cliff when Foley suddenly hit the dirt. Lock dropped the instant his buddy did, squinting along the path to try and see what had spooked him. There was a tall, triangular outcrop at the right hand side of the trail, about thirty feet ahead. It marked another turn in the path, which disappeared behind it.
Lock kept his eyes on the line of the outcrop, watching to see if its silhouette changed. There – a swelling in the hard line of the rock, growing in size just a little bit.
Someone was behind it, watching the path.
Foley had seen him too.
‘Law enforcement,’ he called. ‘Identify yourself.’
There was no reply. The swelling shrank away, leaving behind it the clean line of the rock. Lock listened out for the telltale grind of a foot, but there was nothing.
He belly-crawled up until he was level with Foley, keeping some distance between them. It was important not to offer too big of a target.
Whoever was on the other side of the rock was keeping still, otherwise they’d have heard movement.
It’s our guy, Lock thought. He’s keeping quiet, now. He’s had some time to think, and bleed a little more. He’s running out of chances and now he means business.
Somewhere to the north, a coyote howled. The two men glanced at each other.
Lock picked up a large stone, and showed it to Foley, who nodded. Lock tossed it so that it rolled along the gravel, past the outcrop. Scuffling sounds came from beyond it, and then the pop of a suppressed pistol shot.
Foley stood up and ran, reaching the outcrop in a couple of seconds. He held his back against the cliff face, drawing his own pistol.
‘You might as well show yourself,’ Lock called. ‘One way or another, you’re coming with us.’
They’d take it in turns to speak now, to confuse the suspect as to where they were.
Still there was no reply. For a long moment, the two men waited. There was no rush. Let the fear build up, Lock thought. It might just mean he gave it up and came quietly.
Once he and Foley started firing back, there’d likely be only one outcome. There was no such thing as shoot to wound. Trying that just made for enraged, injured suspects with nothing left to lose. You aimed at the upper body – the largest area, and thus the one you had best chance of hitting. That meant you were shooting to kill. Likely this kid didn’t know how to shoot accurately. But you never knew, with guns.
The silence was broken by the scrape of a boot. Lock frowned. The sound seemed to be coming from below them.
‘Goddamn,’ he muttered, standing up and moving over to Foley. ‘He’s gone off the edge of the path. Down the canyon side again,’ he whispered.
Foley nodded. He aimed his pistol and moved around the outcrop. Sure enough, there was nobody behind it.
The canyon wall fell away from the path’s western side in a steep, funnel-like gully, which led to the creek below. It was littered with jutting boulders and outcrops, and plenty of clinging trees and bushes.
Lock got down on the floor and belly-crawled to the edge. The moonlight outlined the foliage and rocks, and he supposed it meant a descent was just about possible. Even if it were, it would be very dangerous.
Foley crawled up beside him. The guy couldn’t have got far. There were plenty of places to hide in easy reaching distance. He’d have gone for a rock, Lock thought. Trees weren’t bullet proof.
He swung his rifle around and aimed it down the gulley.
A tree about fifteen feet below them shook suddenly, and a figure swung into view for a split second. Just as quickly, it disappeared behind a large rock, which glowed blue-white in the moonlight, as if all lit up for them. Still moving confidently enough, Lock thought. The injury can’t be so bad.
‘Last warning,’ Foley called. ‘Show yourself, or we’ll shoot on sight.’
After another minute or so of silence, Lock gestured down the path, and on Foley’s nod stood up and moved silently along it. His CAR-15 had a laser sight, and he switched it on and kept the rifle pointed ahead, ready to fire.
Soon, he’d passed the vertical northern ridge of the gully the man was descending, and was on the far side of it from where they’d last seen him. Lock swung the rifle onto his back again and began climbing down the slope. The woody, gnarled chaparral made good handholds, and he tested each place he put his feet with the toes of his boots.
When he was about twenty feet down the side of the canyon, the ground became very steep, and there was a lot of loose rock. To his right, a spine-like ridge, furred in low vegetation, ran straight down into the canyon. The suspect was somewhere just the other side of it. The little gully he’d fled into would make for an easier climb.
Lock gripped the plants tight and looked over his shoulder. The canyon floor was two or three hundred feet below him, the drop near vertical. He could hear the water running in the creek. On the opposite side of the canyon, he saw a gleam where a falls dropped into it.
He’d spent a lot of time on cliffs, but they’d never been a favorite place of his.
He looked back up at the path, and made out the low silhouette of Foley above it.
Foley switched on his own sight, the red dot materializing on the ground beside Lock’s hands. He flashed it twice, rapidly, and continued to do so as he moved the beam slowly to Lock’s right. Lock watched it, crawling slowly in the direction it led. When he reached the side of the gully, he pulled himself up the ridge, moving his head just above its level.
The dot flashed, tracing a line across the undergrowth to a pick out a large boulder, ten feet across and another ten below where Lock was clinging on. The beam stopped moving.
Lock squinted into the darkness behind the boulder. He was considering firing a couple of rounds into the gloom, when a muzzle flash flared within it, a round pinging crazily off a rock a foot or so away from his head. Lock flinched, and heard another round ricochet off the cliff face above the path. The guy was firing at Foley, too.
So, he’d understood what Foley had been doing with his laser sight – he wasn’t as dumb as he’d looked. He eased himself up above the spine again, to take a look.
Another round almost caught the left side of his head. A little too close, Lock thought. Be careful now. Still, every round the guy fired was another one closer to being empty. The second I hear that magazine drop from your gun, motherfucker…
The guy was carrying a 9mm semi-auto, and had already fired off five rounds that Lock knew of. Assume he’d reloaded before they’d found him on the path. That meant three shots fired. Unless he had an unusual weapon, that in turn meant he had a maximum of seven rounds left in the gun. Maybe.
A loud grinding sound came from over the side of the gully. Lock sprang up, and saw the man sliding on his ass down loose rock towards a tree. Lock aimed his rifle, and as he sighted he heard the crack of Foley’s gun and saw dirt fly up from the slope in minute explosions.
He squeezed off a round himself, and heard the guy cry out. Lock saw him grab his left arm as he disappeared below a small rise in the canyon side. Flesh wound, Lock thought. But better than nothing. Two injuries now.
Lock began moving further down the slope. Above him, he heard Foley begin to descend, too. Lock felt a pang of uncertainty. The position on the path was a strong one, and he’d have preferred Foley to stay at it. The guy might always try to get back up. Plus, Foley was in the same gully the suspect was climbing down, meaning he was exposed.
But it would be a miracle if the guy hit him at any distance with a pistol, especially at night. And Foley had no doubt got worried about the same thing Lock had.
If the guy made it down to the canyon floor, they’d have no chance. The creek was surrounded by dense trees and giant boulders, and offered a thousand easy hiding places. They had to get him before he reached it, and he was already halfway down.
‘We’d like to take you alive,’ Lock called out. ‘Better for all of us if we do.’
There was no reply. The silence spoke volumes. This guy wasn’t planning to surrender.
Have it your own way, Lock thought. I’m tired of talking too.
Foley had the easier ground, and was able to descend faster than Lock. Soon he’d drawn level, and Lock peered over the ridge and signaled him with a flash of his sight.
Foley raised a hand in acknowledgement. As he did so, he slipped.
His feet went from under him and he fell heavily onto his side, sliding down the loose rock, reaching out with his right hand for something to grip on. His fingers tightened around a stem of chaparral, and he fell onto his belly as his fall was arrested. For a moment it seemed as though he’d stopped himself, but then the chaparral broke and he carried on sliding down, holding his chin up and away from the rock, both hands scrabbling for purchase.
He’d dropped about thirty feet before his body twisted around, and he smashed head first into a tree’s thick trunk. Lock winced as he saw him go still.
‘Damn it,’ he said. He pulled himself up over the spine of rock and dropped into the gully, beginning to pick his way down.
A shot rang out from behind him, and dirt bit into his right hand.
He turned, and saw the suspect crouching below; his back against the tree Foley had collided with. He was aiming his gun up the slope as he pulled at Foley’s rifle with his free hand. When he couldn’t get the rifle strap over the unconscious LEO’s shoulder, he reached for Foley’s holster and his .45.
Foley was left handed, so he wore his pistol on his left side. The gun was a specially built South Paw.
When the guy had it in his hand he looked up at Lock. The moonlight illuminated the triumphant smile on his face.
‘Fuck you,’ he said spittle flying from his mouth and gleaming briefly.
Lock could see that his left arm was hanging limp, the hoodie he was wearing soaked through with blood.
‘What now?’ Lock said.
‘Put the fucking guns down. Kick ’em down here.’
Lock slowly pulled his pistol free of its holster, holding the grip by two fingers so that the barrel pointed down, the weapon dangling.
He swung it back, as though about to throw it, and paused. He was about thirty-five feet away from the man, he guessed. Close enough to see the running snot gleaming beneath his nose.
‘I’m not fucking around, man,’ the guy said.
‘I can tell. Thing is, I don’t think you can hit me with that pistol of yours.’
The man leered, aimed and fired. The round thudded into the compacted dirt to the right of Lock’s shoulder.
‘Three left,’ Lock said. ‘Am I right? Or did you lose count?’
‘I got your buddy’s pistol, you dumb fuck,’ the man said.
‘Yeah,’ Lock said. ‘But I don’t think you know how to turn the safety off.’
When the guy’s eyes moved to the .45, Lock flicked his own pistol up into his hand and fired eight shots as fast as he could pull the trigger. He watched the man buck and shiver as six of them hit home. The rounds tore big wet chunks out of him that spattered the tree’s branches, and flew out gleaming over the canyon.
When Lock had finished firing the man fell back against the tree, arms flailing out to the sides, both of them limp now. The guns fell from his hands and clattered away down the cliffs.
The tree held him in position as his chin dropped over his right shoulder, and blood that looked black in the moonlight drooled from his slack mouth. He looked a little like he’d been crucified, Lock thought.
He picked his way down to Foley and checked his pulse. His partner groaned, and shifted slightly.
‘This is a sorry heap of shit we’ve got ourselves into,’ Lock told him.
Foley raised his head off the ground, wincing as he looked at the dead man resting against the tree. At least his neck isn’t broken, Lock thought.
‘Shit,’ Foley said, his voice thick and slurred.
Lock dragged him into a sitting position.
‘You lost your pistol, buddy,’ he told him.
Foley groaned, his chin resting on his shoulder.
‘I’ll find it.’
‘Not tonight you won’t.’
‘Listen,’ Foley said, his voice so weak that Lock had to lean down to him. ‘You gotta promise me something.’
‘What is it?’ Lock said.
‘If I make it out of here tonight, you gotta promise me…’
Lock looked at him.
Foley began shaking, his face twisting up as he tried to speak. ‘You gotta promise to tell me what Rigazio’s like in the sack.’
Lock looked back up at the path, a long, long way above them.
‘Goddamn it,’ he said, the sound of Foley’s choking laughter ringing in his ears.
41.
TUESDAY, APRIL 12, 6.00AM
The sun rose behind Vulture, and he felt grateful for its heat on his frozen back. Below him were distant canyons, their trees and creeks so tiny it was like he was looking down from a plane. When the light breached their walls, it flooded into them like liquid gold. He crouched behind a rock, getting his breath and staring down, amazed. It would’ve been hard to believe it was real, if it wasn’t for the occasional gleam of water, or a bird flying below him.
As he set off again, a haze began to fill the air around him, steaming from the ground and softening everything.
Every now and again he saw the boy. He scampered along the ridge, looking back and disappearing again. Whenever he did so, Vulture ducked. But no bullets came down the slope. Each time he saw him, the rifle was slung over the kid’s back. Maybe he ran out of bullets, Vulture wondered. Why else would they come up here? Not long now. He just had to get close enough to use the pistol. There was only one way up.
It was like the kid was checking he was still there. Stupid fuck, Vulture thought. Think I came all this way to give up now? Think I’m gonna get beat by this fucking hill? Think I don’t know that you ran out of bullets?
The crest he was walking on was very narrow. The last night’s cold had made him so stiff that he was limping, now. He’d thought that when he reached the top of the mountain, the kid might have already set off down the other side. Now he was high enough though, he could see that there was nothing beyond the mountain. Nothing except for deep green valleys with glistening cracks of water within them, more peaks beyond. Pine forested slopes, like the ones he’d walked through for God knew how long the night before.
More goddamn forest.
But that was fine. The kid was gonna run out of places to walk. As soon as they got to the top, he was dead.
How long would it take him, after, to get home? Just back to the road, he kept thinking. Any road, come to think of it. That was all it would take. He could hitch a ride no problem. He’d fucking carjack a ride, come to that.
Whenever he thought of Juanita, of what was in her belly, his heart beat a little faster and his blood ran hotter.
He kept walking. As he did so, the world around him came slowly to life. Lizards scurried over rocks and rustled in the scrub, and small birds bobbed through the air. Overhead, ravens were flying, circling lazily and calling to one another.
He was sweating, he realized with surprise. He’d never thought he’d feel sweat come out of his pores again, after the brutal cold of the night before. He felt sick; a little feverish. He was still trembling, even though he felt hot now. He wished he could lie down, sleep for a little bit. He wondered if Ghost was still alive. He thought he’d heard gunshots, a little before dawn. But who the fuck knew, in this crazy fucking place? He wasn’t sure if maybe he’d imagined them.
He wished he had some water. He wished he was with Juanita, safe and sound, back at home.
He tried to tell himself he would get there again.
Give it up kid. Don’t you know you’re dead? Let’s get this finished now.
He could see the top of the mountain, a little way ahead. The sky was pure blue beyond it, the sunlight dazzling. The world buzzed and scurried with life.
A long way to the right of him, a helicopter skimmed through the mountains.
He looked out over the cliffs. A long way into the air, above the pine trees and grey slopes of shattered rock and the green-furred lower ridges, a hawk was banking, turning effortlessly in the air, sailing across the world without a beat of its wing.
A little way ahead, the path ran out. He’d reached the top. Shit, where was the kid?
He was about to turn around when something punched him in the back, hard enough that it went straight through him, and sprayed out in a flash of red from his chest.
42.
TUESDAY, APRIL 12, 6.30AM
The man staggered a little way forward after Javier shot him. He disappeared from sight, and for a moment Javier wondered if he’d fallen off the other side of the mountain.
He climbed up, slowly, staying low and pointing the rifle ahead. The man was still there, leaning against a rock. He simply stood for a moment, chin drooping as though he was looking down at himself. His right hand moved up, as if to brush something away from his chest. Then he suddenly dropped to his knees, a little like the goat had when the dead guard had shot it in the forest.
Javier pointed the rifle at him, and watched as the man twisted around, leaning his back against the rock. He dropped the pistol on the floor beside him, and propped himself on his hands, looking at Javier.
‘You fucking shot me,’ he said. He spoke carefully, and Javier realized it was hard for him to breathe.
Javier nodded.
‘Shit…’ he gasped. Liquid was drooling from his mouth.
‘You killed my uncle and my brother,’ Javier said.
The man clawed the ground near the gun, but his fingers didn’t seem to able to reach it.
‘Stop,’ Javier said. ‘Or I’ll shoot you again.’
The man let his arm slump down beside him. Javier thought he saw a tear run down his face.
‘Why’d you do it?’ Javier asked him.
The man’s head was bobbing as he struggled to suck in air. ‘Had to get even,’ he said. ‘For my sister.’
‘What happened to your sister?’
‘Your… fucking… brother. Shot her.’
‘And for that you had to kill my uncle, and my friend. You had to burn the farm?’
‘…A man called Butcher… He wanted that done. That was the price… For you.’
Javier watched him.
‘I got a kid…’ The man said.
Javier almost said ‘good,’ but he stopped himself. ‘Sorry,’ he said after a moment.
‘…I don’t think I’m like Butcher…’ the guy said. He looked away again, and the sound of crying came out of him and drifted in the cool air. His shoulders jerked. ‘I need to get back down. I need to be with her. And our kid.’ he said.
He slumped himself forward, and began crawling towards the edge of the mountain. He left the pistol where it was.
‘Where you going?’ Javier asked him.
‘Have to get back down,’ he said again. ‘For my kid.’
Javier thought about shooting him again, but when his finger was on the trigger, he found he couldn’t pull it. He walked over to the rock where the guy had been sitting, and picked up the pistol. He checked the safety catch and stuck it into his pants.
There was blood on the rock, already drying in the sun. Javier turned around. The man had gone. He seemed to have fallen off the edge of the summit. The only sign of him was more some droplets of very bright blood, spattered across the rocks.
43.
TUESDAY, APRIL 12, 6.45AM
Vulture slumped against a ledge, which jutted out a few feet below the mountain’s peak. Below his Vans, which hung suspended in the cold blue air, the mountain dropped away in sheer cliffs, thousands of feet high. Like a bird, he thought, trying to keep his head up and his eyes open. Can see everything.
The rock was sandy under his fingers, and warmer than the air. He pressed his hands into it, trying not to tilt forward and fall off.
He laughed, but something surged in his throat and hot liquid ran down his chin as he did so.
Going back down, he thought.
After a little while, it became too much effort to keep his eyes open, and he leaned back and closed them. He sat still for a long moment, watching the pictures in his head.
Juanita. She was filling his mind. Flooding into him, unstoppable and vivid.
Juanita. They’d grown up on the same street, had known each other since they were kids. He kept thinking back to that, now. He didn’t know why. When they’d been young, their families had gone to Mexico together for a holiday. It was that trip that he kept seeing in his head. He thought that must mean something.
He saw the tiny white house his mother had grown up in, rammed up close against the others, clustered together on a road made out of dirt. It was summer, and he remembered how bright the women’s clothes were as they fussed over him.
Before his grandparents died, they traveled to that house a lot of different times. But it always seemed to be summer when he thought of it – the air swampy and humid, his father’s brow damp, his mother laughing as she poured Coke into plastic cups.
He saw Juanita, disappearing around the side of the house in a giggle, tossing her head back at him as she did so, her white socks smeared by the red dirt and her dress trailing in the air behind her. He saw her black hair bouncing as she disappeared from view, and felt the earth slap under his feet as he chased her, his laughter coming out of him in quick little spurts because he was running so hard and had to breathe, too.
He saw the strip of earth behind the houses that the families used like one long yard, backed up against low hills, strewn with dead, gutted cars and ancient bikes, the old men sitting out in their chairs with their faces blank beneath their hats, smoking and drinking from sweating bottles. He felt himself holding a breath, heart thumping against his ribcage as he snuck around the cool, quiet spaces between the cars, looking for Juanita, listening, trying to keep quiet, trying not to get too scared.
He felt the shock as she leapt out at him and laughed and smothered him, knocking him to the ground so that he was stunned by her strength. The smell of her hot skin as she pinned him down, her fingers running over his body like big hard spiders and tickling him until he screamed and she laughed again and was gone.
Then suddenly there she was, just a few years later, standing in the kitchen, trying to take care of everything, like always, pain in her eyes as he told her to get the fuck away.
A buzzing sound disturbed him, and he opened his eyes to see a helicopter hovering a little way out beyond the mountain. He could make out the shapes of men inside it, could tell that they were watching him.
‘Fuck off,’ he muttered. ‘Leave me alone.’ He shut his eyes again, and soon the chopper disappeared.
When next he opened them, he saw that blood was running out of his shorts leg and across the warm, sandy stone. It was dripping off the edge, falling down into the air. He reached a hand out, and said Juanita’s name, hot tears running down his face as he did so.
He thought of his kid, and a torrent of foul regret was unleashed in his head.
After that, he felt calm.
You can come find your dad up here, he thought. In this crazy-ass forest. Look for his bones, wherever the coyotes carried him. The vultures, he thought, and laughed again.
Juanita’s face was smiling at him, and he reached out a little further, determined he’d reach her this time.
Gravity welcomed him into its grip, and the cold, blasting air cleaned everything from his head.
