Richard Matheson - Hunted Past Reason

It took only a few minutes for him to cut away the branches. This should do the trick, he thought. “I’m going to get you out of here, pussy,” he said. He grimaced at himself. Pussy? This was no house cat. He recalled, fleetingly, Doug calling him that. Bastard, he thought.

The limb was ready now. He moved to the opposite side of the tree and spoke across the foliage to the mountain lion. “I’m going to raise the tree now,” he told it. “When I do, pull out your leg and move off. I hope your leg isn’t broken. However… just don’t kill me after you’re free, okay? I really don’t deserve it. Right. Let’s see what happens.”

He pushed the end of the limb as far beneath the trunk as possible, keeping it away from the lion’s trapped leg. “All right,” he said. “Archimedes’s principle, pussy. The lever. Get yourself ready.”

He pressed down on the end of the limb. Nothing budged. “Oh, Christ, I hope it’s not too heavy,” he muttered. He pressed down harder, using more strength. The effort sent barbs of pain through his lower back. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to do this,” he told the cat and himself. “Jesus, don’t let the tree be too heavy.”

He pressed down harder, teeth clenched against the pains it caused in his back. “What am I doing this for?” he muttered. “Trying to save you, I’ll ruin myself. Is that fair? Ah! ” A quick smile pulled back his lips. The tree was lifting off the ground. “Get ready, pussy, get ready,” he said, breathless now. “Pull out your leg.”

The cat remained motionless, its throat filled with vibrating growls.

“For Christ’s sake, pussy, pull your leg out,” he begged. “I can’t keep holding up the tree.” Wasn’t there enough of it lifted for the cat to free its leg? he wondered. He groaned in agony as he pushed down harder on the limb. “Come on,” he said through gritted teeth. “Pull out your leg. I can’t keep—”

He broke off in shock as the limb snapped and the tree trunk fell back on the mountain lion’s leg. Its high-pitched scream of pain horrified Bob. “Oh, God, I’m sorry,” he said, barely able to speak. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. It wasn’t me, it was the limb. It broke, it broke.”

The mountain lion uttered an unearthly sound of pain and fury.

Suddenly, uncontrollably, Bob began to cry. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said brokenly, tears pouring from his eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m trying to help you get away.” He could hardly speak he was sobbing so hard. “You can’t stay here, you’ll die. Don’t you understand? You have to move or you’ll die.”

Fury filled him with startling abruptness. “Goddamn it, pussy!” He began to rage. “Are you just going to give up and die?! Don’t you want to live?! Don’t you?!”

With a sudden move, he grabbed hold of a still intact limb and struggled to lift the tree. “Damnit, you are going to live, you hear me?” he told the cat in a fury. “I’m going to lift this goddamn tree, and when I do, you’re going to pull your goddamn leg out, do you hear me? Do you hear me, cat?!”

Later, he wondered where on earth the strength had come to him to raise the tree trunk. Was it the kind of desperate strength that helped tiny women to lift the weight of a car off their child’s leg? He never knew. All he knew, at this moment, was that his body felt suffused with a kind of maddened power that enabled him to lift the tree trunk from the mountain lion’s pinned leg.

“Now move, goddamn it! Move! Pull out your leg! You hear me, goddamn it! Pull out your fucking leg!”

The mountain lion suddenly lurched free and leaped to its feet, growling fiercely.

All rage vanished in an instant, all unnatural strength. He stood frozen, watching the mountain lion starting to limp around the tree to get at him.

“Now come on,” he pleaded. “I just saved your life. I gave you water. I lifted the tree and freed your leg. You don’t want to kill me. You know you don’t.”

The mountain lion stopped its limping move around the tree. Was it the sound of his voice, no longer furious but, once more, gentle? He had no idea but kept on talking.

“Just move on now, pussy, just move on,” he said. “If your leg is broken, there’s nothing I can do about that. But at least you aren’t trapped. My crazy friend can’t kill you now.” He broke into a bitter laugh, causing the cat to cock its head and gaze at him curiously. “He’s not my friend. He’s nuts. He wants to kill me. I’d love it if you got him instead of me. But just move on. I’m going to turn and get on my way. Don’t jump on my back now, please. Just stay here ’til I’m gone, then move on. Okay? I’m going to turn and walk away now. Just stand still. I wish you well. Good-bye now.”

As slowly as he could, he picked up the cudgel, turned and started off into the forest, chills lacing up and down his spine as he walked, anticipating a dreadful roar behind him, the sound of the huge cat’s thrashing body, the crushing weight of its body leaping on his back, the claws digging into him, the sharp teeth rending at his flesh. Much good the cudgel would do him.

Nothing happened though. After a minute had passed, he stopped and turned around. The mountain lion was standing motionless, watching him go. Without thought, he raised his right arm. “Bye,” he said. “Take care of yourself.”

He turned around and walked on into the forest. A miracle? he wondered. Or simply that the mountain lion knew he’d saved its life?

He sighed. At least that bastard Doug would never get to kill it now.

He’d followed the instructions in the booklet Marian had given him, found a flat, concave stone and heated it over a fire. Then, when the rock was hot (he’d put drops of water on it until the last one sizzled) he’d placed the rabbit, open side down on the rock and fried it as long as he dared.

It was barely done, but it tasted magnificent. He was conscious of tearing at it like a wild animal, ripping off large chunks of it with his teeth, chewing it noisily and probably swallowing it too soon. But it tasted delicious and he ate every scrap of it.

Now the coffee was steaming. Using his shirttail to hold the hot metal handle of the cup, he sipped at the coffee with powdered milk and sugar in it. It tasted wonderful too. He ate an energy bar and took continued sips from the metal cup. As he did, he kicked dirt onto the hole in which he’d placed the rabbit directly on the stone, turning it over and over, blackening it on the outside, hoping that the inside would get cooked enough to make it edible.

He looked at his watch. He’d been here almost twenty-five minutes. Had it been too long? There was just no way of knowing where Doug was, how fast he was moving in his demented pursuit.

No matter. He had to eat and he did. The rabbit, probably more raw than cooked, sat in his stomach in lumps. To hell with it, he told himself. He needed protein, he had it now.

He finished putting out the fire and kept sipping at the hot coffee, nibbling at the rest of the blackberries in his pocket. He’d finish the coffee, then move on. Even sitting, he was aware of every ache in his body. Never mind, he thought. You saved that mountain lion, didn’t you? He had the time. Even as he thought it, he realized that the logic made no sense at all. Yet, somehow, it was satisfying to him. He was amazed that he was even able to stand after the strain he’d put on his back, lifting that tree. Adrenaline, he thought. There really was something to it. To his knowledge, he’d never consciously experienced its effect before. He sure did this time though.

It came to him, as he thought, that his belief system had value to him only as a philosophy that had no tangible effect on the realities of his life. Perhaps if he was so spiritually advanced he would actually control those physical realities. He wasn’t though. He had the belief system, period.