Richard Matheson - Hunted Past Reason

Slowly, teeth remaining gritted every moment, he climbed the vertical crack, using his fisted hands—the tape did help somewhat he was glad to note—and, very guardedly, putting his right foot, then his left into the crack, twisting them slightly to strengthen their hold but careful not to wedge them in too tightly and make them difficult to pull free.

He fell into a slow, unthinking rhythm of movements as he ascended the crack. Right foot, right hand, left foot, left hand. Maybe I’ll go into rock climbing, he thought once. Then, after scorning the idea, shutting down his brain again and keeping himself a slow, laborious climbing machine, inching his way up the rock face.

At one point, he began to suffer spastic contractions in the muscles of his legs. As though he had expected this, with no reaction of surprise or fear, he hung down one leg at a time until the contractions eased. Then he started climbing again.

He lost all sense of time. Life had diminished to the climb. There was nothing else but the climb. He forgot about Doug, about Marian, about his very existence. There was only one thing. Climbing to the top of this wall. Slowly. Carefully. Patiently. Methodically. Reaching the top.

Nothing else mattered.

When he reached the crest of the rock face and raised his head above the edge, he found himself looking directly into the dead eyes of an enormous rattlesnake.

Expressionless, he stared at the snake as its tail buzzed loudly, vibrating back and forth so rapidly he couldn’t follow the movement.

This is too much, the thought came quietly. It can’t be true. I made the climb just to end like this?

He didn’t move. The rattling of the snake’s tail slowed.

Remembering the bear, then, he began to speak.

“Listen,” he said, “I’m not going to hurt you.” As if I could, added his mind. “And you’re not going to hurt me. Just… turn around and move away so I can get up here. Come on. You’re just scared to see me. You don’t want to hurt me. Just turn around and go away. That’s a boy.”

The snake remained motionless. Its tail was still now. It didn’t move though. Its lifeless eyes kept staring into Bob’s.

“Come on now,” he told the snake in as gentle a voice as he could summon being breathless, his throat dry.

The standoff seemed to continue for minutes but Bob was sure it hadn’t been that long before the snake abruptly uncoiled itself and glided away, disappearing into some brush.

Bob crawled weakly onto the crest of the rock wall and fell on his back, breathing with difficulty. Jesus, he kept thinking. Jesus . I did it again. First the black bear. Now the rattlesnake. What am I, some animal guru?

For some reason, he began to think about karma. He believed in it, didn’t he? That being the case, what in the hell had he done in his last lifetime or lifetimes to justify all these things happening to him? Who was he, Judas Iscariot for God’s sake?

He realized then that, as far as he knew, snakes probably couldn’t hear. They kept sticking their tongues out—why, to smell or what? They could probably feel vibrations. But hear ? Not likely, and there he’d been emoting philosophy to the snake. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. Don’t make a spiritual experience of this, Hansen. He hissed, shaking his head. What a dimwit.

He made himself look over the side of the rock wall. It was a cliff, by God, that’s what it was. He gaped down at the floor of the canyon far below. My God, he thought. I climbed up here? Me , the worst-conditioned man in California?

It seemed an inappropriate time for laughter but he couldn’t help it. And Doug would have to climb it carrying all that crap on his back! It was hysterical. He couldn’t stop laughing at the thought, his body shaking, tears running down his cheeks. Unbelievable, he thought again and again. Unbelievable .

After several minutes, he checked his watch.

It had taken him more than an hour to make the climb. No time to rest.

He had to move on.

The sun was going down now. How soon before darkness? he wondered. That would be a fearful time. Should he keep going in the dark? It might gain him time over Doug. But was it safe? Animals came out at night. He might inadvertently step on a rattlesnake. He might slip and fall, break a bone. Anything might happen.

He’d think about it later. While it was still light, he had to put some distance between himself and Doug. Despite a body that felt more exhausted and aching with every passing hour, he had to keep going. For a short while after successfully climbing the rock face, he’d felt exhilarated, as though he was getting his second wind.

Not now. He knew exactly how tired he felt, how many aches and pains he felt. When he’d pulled the tape off his hands—he should have left it on—he’d pulled away loose skin. Now his palms were partially raw, still oozing blood. He’d put a bit of Bactine on them, stinging them, but did it help any? Maybe he’d try to bandage them later if there was time.

He walked infirmly through shadowy ravines and canyons. He suspected that some of the plants he was thrashing through were poison ivy or poison oak because of their three-leaf pattern. All I need, he thought, smiling despite the uneasiness of the thought.

Trudging through a spruce and hemlock grove, he heard the sound of moving water ahead. Thank God, he thought. He’d finished what little water he’d left in his bottle. He’d been desperately afraid of finding no more water. That would be a real catastrophe. The packets of water wouldn’t last long at all.

Emerging from the grove of trees, he saw a quickly moving stream ahead, its current splashing over gray rocks, spraying in the air.

Moving down to the stream, he lay in front of it gingerly and used his hands to ladle water into his mouth. It was icy cold and the taste of it made him groan with pleasure. It felt good on his hands as well.

He filled his water bottle, added two iodine tablets—he hoped he hadn’t made a mistake drinking directly from the stream—then slumped down to sit beside the stream, hissing at the biting pain in his rectum. Bastard , he thought.

Where was Doug now? he wondered. It was the first time in hours he’d allowed himself to estimate how close Doug might be behind him. He was behind, wasn’t he? He had to be. If he had really abided by the rules of his demented game, he’d given Bob a three-hour head start. The main question now was: Did he also climb that rock face? Or did he backtrack, knowing a faster way to overtake Bob? If that was the case…

He shivered convulsively. There was the problem. He couldn’t outthink Doug. He simply didn’t understand him. He was sure of only one thing: that Doug would persist in this madness until the very end. He probably wasn’t even allowing himself to consider that what he was doing was insane. He’s crossed the line and feels justified, Bob thought.

And, of course, he couldn’t let Bob live now; not after everything that had happened.

Bob had to die.

He swallowed dryly, took another swallow of the cold water from his bottle.

Or Doug had to die, the reverse thought came.

One of them wasn’t going to survive this insanity, that was certain.

I really should move on, he thought. But he was so tired . He had to rest awhile longer, he just had to. I’m so tired, so damn tired , he thought. And I hurt so much. He’d like to just give up. If I was single, I would , he realized. But he had to get to Marian before Doug could reach her.

Get some goddamn energy inside yourself for chrissake, he told himself suddenly.

“Yes,” he said. Unzipping his jacket he took out an energy bar and some dried fruit, began to eat. What else was there? He felt around in his shirt and, feeling the booklet, drew it out. He took the folding glasses from his jacket pocket and put them on.