Authors: Robert T. Jeschonek

Backtracker (62 page)

Finally, he darted his head out over the fissure.

He jerked his eyes along the length of the gap, then ducked back.

Anxiously, Dave gaped at his comrade. Billy looked limp, a little shaken; Dave moved toward him, eyes bulging with concern and curiosity.

Billy met his partner
'
s gaze...and shook his head.

Dave started to breathe again.

Billy rolled his eyes and produced a sheepish smirk. Hands on his hips, he paused for a moment, seemed to be collecting himself; then, he started for another fissure.

The plateau was still silent when the partners drew up to the next rift. Billy leaned toward it, hung there for just an instant; he seemed more relaxed than
he'd
been at the last fissure, not as tense as
he'd
looked when the sounds had cut off just as
he'd
been about to peek.

The silence continued. Billy tipped forward and dipped his eyes into the trench. His head slid to the left, following the course of the depression.

Then, he stopped moving. With his face turned completely away from Dave, he froze, locked into the pose like a mannequin.

Puzzled, Dave stared at his partner, wondered what
he'd
seen. The noises
hadn
'
t
resumed, so Dave doubted that anything was moving in the fissure; he felt sure that the cleft must be vacant, and he
couldn
'
t
figure out what would be interesting enough to command Billy
'
s attention so totally.

After only a moment, the suspense had become too much for Dave to bear. Frowning, he bowed over the trench, lowered his gaze into its depths; he panned his eyes along the length of the socket, seeking the spot at which Billy was staring.

He
didn
'
t
have to search for long. His vision was quickly snagged by the sight; he
couldn
'
t
miss it.

He
couldn
'
t
stop himself from gasping, either.

Bright white. There was bright white in the rift...and red.

And more red.

A body. There was a body in the rift...and blood.

The kid.

It was the kid. He was sprawled over rocks and dirt at the bottom of the fissure.

Most of his face was gone; his skull had been crushed like a melon. Dave only recognized him because of the clothes, though the sweatpants had been soaked purple and the white T
-
shirt was stained crimson.

The shirt was bloody as an ignored and tragic flag of surrender; the rocks upon which the boy lay were bloody. The stone walls of the trough were smeared and streaked with blood.

The kid
'
s arms and legs were contorted, twisted to unnatural angles. One of his arms bent in the wrong direction at the elbow; his feet were turned inward, almost backward.

The head was by far the worst of it. Whenever Dave looked at it, he felt sick to the stomach; he thought that he would vomit, and so he looked away...but his eyes were drawn back to it. It was horrible, and he
couldn
'
t
stand to look at it...yet he found himself transfixed, gripped by fear and disbelief and morbid fascination.

For a moment, he just stared, stunned and repulsed, thoughtless and frozen. The discovery was too big, too gruesome, too incredible to allow any but the simplest reaction at first.

Then, he began to understand.

The kid was dead. The kid had been with Larry Smith.

The kid was horribly mutilated. The kid had been with Larry Smith.

The kid had been murdered.

The kid had been with Larry Smith.

The conclusion was inescapable; it settled over Dave like a heavy tarpaulin, a vast canvas shutting out the light. He rebelled against it, kicked and flailed, scrambled for a way out...but he knew that he was trapped.

The kid was dead. Most of his face was gone.

The kid had been with Larry Smith.

With Larry Smith.

He'd
never guessed. Never, not even for an instant, had he imagined; through all the craziness, all the lies,
he'd
trusted in a fundamental decency, a basic goodness in the object of his obsession. Larry had angered him, confused him, surprised him, misled him, but this...Dave had seen no hint of this.

Everything had changed. One peep over the edge, a glance into one rift among dozens, and everything had changed.

Most of the face was gone.

Dave
'
s stomach tightened and he felt as if he would be sick. Clapping a hand over his mouth, he finally wrenched his eyes from the cleft, from the red and white and red. Jamming his eyes shut, he stumbled two steps back from the cavity
'
s edge;
he'd
been lightheaded through much of the day, but now he felt terribly dizzy...and he
didn
'
t
want to fall into the cut beside the...

The face.

Glistening.

Someone touched his shoulder. Reflexively, he flung his eyes open and jerked away...but it was only Billy Bristol.

"
Let
'
s go,
"
Billy whispered urgently. He was grave, more serious than Dave had ever seen him; his eyes were wide and wild, darting about, burning Dave and then swooping right and left.
"
We
'
ve gotta
'
get outta
'
here.
"

Dave swayed, gripped his head with both hands. The truth of Billy
'
s words hit him;
he'd
been so stunned that the realization had come slowly, but Billy had ignited the last burst of understanding.

It was suddenly clear: they were both in great danger. They were alone and unarmed; they stood out in the open, near the center of a huge plateau.

Most of the face was gone.

"
I mean it,
"
whispered Billy, shaking Dave by the shoulder.
"
We
'
ve gotta
'
go
now
.
This is deep
shit
, man.
"

Swallowing hard, battling to control his twisting gut, Dave nodded.

"
Straight down the middle,
"
directed Billy, pointing toward the distant lip where the formation dropped into the clearing.
"
Jump
off and get to the trail.
No matter what, don
'
t
stop
.
This is deep
shit
, man.
"

Gut writhing, heart hammering, Dave nodded.

Without another word, Billy spun and sprinted off; still reeling, Dave took a deep breath and followed. He was dizzy, he was shell
-
shocked, he was nauseous...but now, he was also afraid, scared enough to force himself to go.

Arms and legs pumping, Billy surged ahead.
He'd
been serious about heading in a straight line from the middle of the plateau; instead of swinging around the first fissure before him, he hurdled it, leaping across its maw to land running on the other side.

Not far behind, Dave also raced up to the fissure. As he approached it, he saw that the part of the mouth that Billy had cleared was about three feet wide; he knew that he could make it in a running jump, and he desperately
didn
'
t
want to lag further...but he veered to the right anyway and sprung across at a narrower section.

As Dave ducked his head and kicked up his pace, Billy whipped toward another rift. He still followed his beeline course,
didn
'
t
deviate though the next break in the stone was wider than the last. The wiry guy had always been quick and agile as a squirrel; Dave knew that Billy could vault the cavity with no problem...but he
wasn
'
t
so sure of himself.

As Billy neared the rim of the cleft, Dave hastily appraised it and decided not to take any chances. Though he knew that it might put him further behind, he bolted to the left, aiming himself at a tighter slice of the gorge.

Feet puffing over the stone in a quickfire tattoo, Billy shot to the broad lick of the cut. He hurtled to the rim and then launched himself; he pushed off the edge and flew across with legs spread wide, one ahead, one behind.

Dave watched the lift
-
off, glanced away when Billy
'
s lead foot tabbed the opposite lip of the fissure. Barreling toward the crevice, puffing and nauseous and running on fear, Dave had to focus on his own leap, try not to lose momentum and drift further from his partner.

Arms slashing back and forth, Dave leaned forward and readied for the jump.

It was then that he heard Billy Bristol howl.

There was a sudden, sharp cry...then, the loud smack of something hitting the stone.

Head whipping in the direction of the cry, Dave stumbled to a halt. Even as his eyes flashed to the right,
he had
a feeling that he
shouldn
'
t
look.

Billy was sprawled on the stone. Twitching and squirming, he lay there, stunned by his rough landing...but that
wasn
'
t
the worst of it.

One of his legs still hung over the lip of the fissure. The leg was sliding backward, drawing Billy along with it.

A hand was gripping Billy by the ankle, pulling him into the cleft.

Billy scrabbled on the stone, clawing for purchase, raking his free foot over the surface in a futile attempt to catch a rut from which he could push. The stone was too smooth; he continued to drift back, further into the maw.

Another hand lashed from the trench to grapple Billy
'
s leg. The victim slipped more rapidly toward the gap; his free leg passed over the rim and the second hand punched over to clutch it.

Desperately, Billy gouged at the stone...but it was no use. His legs were dragged over the edge and down, and then the paws from below shot up to hook his waist.

Shocked and terrified, Dave was paralyzed for a moment; a moment was all that it took for the drama to conclude. Before Dave could summon the will to act, it was too late.

"
Get outta
'
here
!
"
screamed Billy.
"
Run for it
!
"
he commanded, and then the hands yanked him from view. Still flailing, clawing at the air, he dropped out of sight.

In a panic, Dave gaped at the spot where his friend had been...his
best
friend.

He wanted to run.

Billy had told him to run.

Billy was his best friend.

Dizzy and shivering with adrenaline, Dave took a step toward the place where Billy had vanished. Frantically, he glanced around, looking for a rock, anything that he could use as a weapon.

He jumped like a spooked cat when Billy
'
s voice erupted from the socket.

"
Go
!
"
shrieked Billy.
"
For God
'
s sake, get outta
'
here
!
"
he wailed, his voice so shrill that it sent a chill up Dave
'
s spine.