I CONTINUE MY ESCAPE ON A RUSTY OLD BIKE, LOSE IT, AND AM HAMPERED BY A TWISTED MUSCLE IN MY THIGH.

The shack in the woods

Except for the eye color, the description and nickname almost fit.  I started pacing again.  But how many guys are there running around who look like that?  And what dude hasn't gone under the knife these days?  A voice inside me said, It's true, you know it is.  Did I have to be hit on the head with a brick?  It's not just about Docker.  What about the "nightmare"?  Billy-Bob's actions smacked of fear.  The kids were scared speechless as though someone had threatened to kill them.  Were they and the other kids abducted?  Why did Billy-Bob make Tadpole and Papa Jo go back when they had the chance to escape with me?  Somehow, I'd find out.  And what about the things No-Face said?  Why did she insist that I try to get away?   Well, that's what I was doing now: getting out, splitting from Docker and his raunchy gang.  I couldn't wait to be home, forget I ever met him, get to a phone-- Damn him!--and call GGIO.  All the evidence had to be in his briefcase.  I felt my heart triple-timing as I folded the article and shoved it into my jacket pocket.  My motive now for escaping had less to do with me.

  I brushed webs and dried weeds from the bike with trembling fingers.  Grasshoppers sprang in all directions.  It had solid rubber tires for the rough terrain, a broken pedal, missing front brake, and a few spokes from each wheel.  Someone had gone heavy on the grease, preventing the chain, sprocket and axles from rusting.  Straddling the seat, I wobbled onto the old highway, which, luckily, continued on the far side of the shack.  Dry thistles poked up through the deep cracks in the asphalt. 

Sweat ran down my face.  I had tied my jacket around my waist, poured water on my scarf and wrapped it around my head.  My backpack felt like it weighed a ton.  Riding on, I strained my ears listening; I looked over my shoulder often, expecting Docker to step out from the trees.  Had he, anyone, missed me yet?  After a couple of miles, I spotted a shady pocket on the side of the mountain where a trickle of a spring ran.  My lungs felt like they were worked over by an overzealous accordian player.  I dismounted, flopped down on a soft mat of burnished needles, and drank straight from the spring.  I refilled my bottle, taking a moment to savor the pristine beauty of the place.  Pedaling on, I mused on the natives who once  lived here, more to take my mind off the article and Docker.  I thought of Mormo who resembled some pictures I'd seen.  Still, from what I'd read, he's much too big, more like a throw-back to the stone age, or a Samoan.  I reached the top of a high ridge by snaking up on switch backs.  I slid off the seat to rest and almost fell over backwards

Mt. Lassen

In the far distance, rising above everything, contrasting with the rich greens and deep blue sky, was the luminous grey cone of an impressive volcano with a small bite taken out.  Lassen!  Now I knew where I was.  I had to travel farther west then south.  I gazed at the barren mountain for some time, forgetting what had impelled me to this spot, until I realized my mouth was hanging open..  The chill of falling dusk seeped through my clothes.  I pulled on my jacket.

            I made up time coasting down to where the old highway broke off again, leaving a jagged edge and a drop of about a foot into dark earth and rocks.  A hairpin turn and the road continued below, in a gorge.  I'd take a short-cut.  I dismounted and walked the bike down the sheer, brushy mountainside.  My foot caught fast in a crack between a lichen-covered rock and the earth into which it was lodged.  Gravity drew the heavy bike down the uneven ground, pulling me along as I foolishly hung on to the handlebars, trying to defeat that elemental force, and twisted my leg.  A sharp pain jabbed my thigh as though a knife had pierced it, making me sick to my stomach.  I let go of the bike and watched it leap and crash through the underbrush, coming to rest at the bottom, leaning on the trunk of an old oak.  I worked my foot free, adjusted my pack, and attempted to hike down to where the highway continued.  Everything spun around.  I saw black and fell, sliding on twigs and dead leaves, to a level place on the dry crumbly earth.  It was getting dark; I had no choice but to stay till morning.  I lay on the pine needle carpet, covered myself with my heavy jacket and shoved my pack under my head.  Now was not the time to be crippled by a pulled muscle.

Closing my eyes, breathing deeply, I felt as though I were floating and tried to focus on a healing visualization.  I saw the pain rise from my thigh as a ball of concentric circles whose center was white-hot, then orange, red -- the whole spectrum -- with the outer circle a cool electric blue.  The visionary ball sailed upwards and disappeared into the indigo sky.  Warmed now, curled beneath my jacket, I fell asleep to the mesmerizing drone of crickets and the mournful howl of wolves.

            In the dead of night, rustling leaves woke me instantly.  Long before I heard voices, I saw flashlight beams, two of them, crisscrossing, lighting up tree trunks, pine branches, and undergrowth.  I shut my eyes, not daring to breathe, skin slick under my clothes.  Something brushed my wool cap.  A cold, hard object touched my cheek.  Another second and my heart would burst through my ribs.  I was going to die.  Strangely calm, I turned to confront my killer.  A raccoon backed off, facing me in the starlight.  A quick movement of my head and it scuttled off.  It was its nose I'd felt. 

            Then I heard them.

            "Man, she couldn't last this long, even if she followed the old highway.  Let's go back.  This hill's steep.  We have to climb back up it," a voice sounding like Pal's complained.
            "You don't know her.  She's a pretty ballsy chick."  Docker's voice.  "I told you to bring the night goggles, asshole.  More proof if you want something done right, do it yourself.  Fuck."

            "I'm beat.  Let's siddown and have us a pull for headin' back."

"No, dickhead!  If we do that, we might never get up.  Shit, man, we'll freeze."

"Then let's split.  It's gotta be gettin' close to mornin'."  The beams crossed over me and shone down the embankment. "Hey, look, isn't that Darlene's ol' bike from the shack?  See.  At the bottom of the gorge below that piece of the highway?"

"Yeah, I forgot all about it."  Docker's voice, low and scratchy.  "She loved riding it on the trails --  See her little butt in tight jeans on the seat, blonde hair in a braid down her back."

"Never did figure out why she didn't go for a mountian bike, man.  She wouldn't've had to stick to the trails.  That dumb ol' sissy bike.  Shit."

"Shut up.  I'm thinking."  Silence, rustling leaves, throat clearing, then: "So Sally found the old place.  She should be way fucking up on that next ridge by now.  Clunker too heavy to haul up it, I guess.  Why didn't she stick to the old highway?"  Their boots sounded loud  scraping the earth, crunching leaves inches from my head.  "Hey, Doc, I'm for goin' back.  Some cougar or bear'll get her or she'll freeze to death."

"Shut the fuck up!  Don't be polluting the air with your negative vibes, man.  If something bad happens to her, it's on you.  And don't you forget it."

"Yeah, but she can't make it too much further and neither can I," Pal wheezed, "Blame that big ape for fuckin' up on the job.  Let 'er go -- She don't know nothin'.  Shit.  C'mon, I'm fuckin' outta shape, man.  Linda'll rake me over if I don't get back before dawn."

"Fuck Linda, man.  You forgetting who gives orders around here?  We go back when I say.  Now get up off your ass and get moving."  I heard a thud.  "Mormo's no ape, asshole.  I'll fix him."

"Oh, shit, Docker. You kick me any harder, I won't be able to use that leg.  Won't be good fer nothin'."

            "Let's get down there.  Check out what's what near that bike."

            I felt myself shaking and wondered if I was making any noise.  I pulled my jacket over my head and listened.  Docker and Pal slid, crashing through dry scrub, to the bottom of the gully, dislodging rocks, sending them hurtling down the incline.  I couldn't make out what they were saying, but their raised voices drifted up.  Soon, grunting and puffing, they worked their way back.

"Shit, man," Docker panted, "she's way hell over that ridge by now."  He snuffled and blew his nose.  "I want her back."  His voice cracked.  "I want her back.  Why'd she run out on me, man?  Wasn't I good to her?"

"Well.  Well, yeah, Doc.  Hell, yeah.  C'mon.  We'll get 'er."  Between each word, Pal labored to catch his breath .

"Yeah, I s'pose so.  Hope she's okay," Docker said, "Tough li'l' broad."  They were quiet a moment.  One cleared his throat.

"Sa - a - a - lleee!  Sa - a - a - lleee!"  Docker hollered.  A cry sprang from my lips at the sound of my name shouted into the night, echoing from the hills.  I drew in my breath and ducked deeper into my jacket.

"Hey, Doc!  Shut up, man.  D'yah want the whole fuckin' world to know where we're at?  Shit!  What's got into you?"  A rock skidded past me and bounded down the hillside.

"Yeah, yeah.  You're right.  But man, I want that fucking chick back."  A fit of coughing racked one of them.  Pal, I thought.  Whoever it was raked up a clot of mucus from deep in his lungs and spat.  I heard it plop into the dry leaves. 

            "I never seen you like this, Doc.  Fuck!  Cunts can mess you up.  You always said that.  Look at Darlene."

            "Shut up about her."  Sounds of a scuffle.  I started at the crack of gunfire.

            "Okay, okay.  Shit.  You could've killed me and, man, if anyone's out there, they'll sure the fuck know where to find us now."

            "Can the whining.  I can't tolerate whiners.  Shut up.  C'mon, let's head back to the cabin.  In the morning, we'll head her off by the . . ."  Their muffled footsteps and voices faded.  Moments later, some distance away, I heard the slam of a truck door, then the low hum of the engine, which soon vanished.  Despite the close call, I harbored a secret glee over Docker's pathetic lament.  So the fucker really cares.  Too bad.  But Pal's wrong about what I know; the clipping opened my eyes.

Next up: Despite my aching thigh, I manage to make it to a four-lane highway.  I'm free!  I can report Docker and get help for the boys!  I put out my thumb, heard a vehicle stop, turned . . . 

CONTINUED