Richard Matheson - Hunted Past Reason

So far, except for the pack, the walk had been nothing but pleasant. They’d passed a fast-moving stream, its crystal-clear water splashing off rocks, sometimes forming momentary rainbows with the sunlight. He’d seen a mule deer grazing on a small meadow, looking over at them, apparently unconcerned because it returned to grazing a few moments later.

These are the things I want to remember for my novel, he kept thinking. All of them.

“Sure you don’t need to stop and rest?” Doug asked, looking back.

Bob didn’t answer at first. Why doesn’t Doug ask me if I want to stop and rest, not if I need to. These were the little digs that annoyed him. He was going to say no, he was fine. Then common sense prevailed. Don’t be a macho idiot, he told himself.

“Yeah, I guess I would,” he said, “I have to pee anyway. All that water you made me drink.”

“Need plenty of water,” Doug said, moving off the trail to another spot with a fallen oak lying across it. “At least a gallon a day.”

Bob joined him on the open ground and, moving around the fallen tree, opened his pants and emptied his bladder. “Oh, that feels good,” he said.

“Pause that refreshes,” Doug responded.

Bob walked back around the tree and slumped to the ground, groaning.

“You dying?” Doug asked, half smiling.

Bob snickered. “Not yet,” he answered.

“Put your pack on that little boulder,” Doug told him. “Take all the weight off your back.”

Bob shifted over to the boulder and laid his backpack on it. “Oh, you’re right,” he said, sounding pleased.

“Usually am,” Doug said, “about backpacking anyway.”

He took the compass out of his jacket pocket and looked at it.

“We still going in the right direction?” Bob asked.

“Yup.” Doug put the compass back into his pocket. “If this was unfamiliar country, we’d use a topographic map but here we don’t need to.”

“How many miles to your cabin?” Bob asked.

“Hard to say,” Doug answered. “Never figured it out. A good three days though. Four if you get real bushed and we have to slow down.”

Jesus, Doug, do you have to keep harping on this? Bob thought.

“You’re gasping for breath a little bit,” Doug told him. “That’s to be expected. Be sure you exhale all the way, get the carbon dioxide out of your system, make lots of room for oxygen. Concentrate on your exhaling.”

“All right.” Bob nodded. Good advice, he thought.

“I’ll probably lose some weight by Wednesday, don’t you think?” he asked.

“Don’t plan on it,” Doug said warningly. “You’re going to need all the energy you can muster. Don’t worry about gaining weight on a high calorie diet. You won’t.”

“I understand,” Bob nodded.

“What do you do for exercise, Bob?” Doug asked.

Bob felt inclined to exaggerate, then decided against it. “Walk,” he said.

“That’s all?”

“And swim in the summer,” Bob added.

“Oh, that’s right, you have a swimming pool.”

Bob felt himself bristle a little. Doug knew very well that he had a pool; he and Nicole had gone swimming in it.

“No weight lifting?” Doug asked.

“I used to,” Bob answered. “I stopped.”

“Why?”

Bob exhaled wearily. “I got bored with it,” he said.

“Bicycle ride?”

“I used to,” Bob said, wishing the line of questions would end.

“Tennis? Handball?”

“No, Doug, no,” he answered.

“Well—” Doug gestured with his hands. “I’m only asking because it applies to hiking. Ever take the twelve-minute test?”

“What’s that?”

“You see how far you can walk or run in twelve minutes,” Doug said. “If you can cover a mile and a quarter to a mile and a half in twelve minutes you’re in fair condition.”

“And good?” Bob asked, wondering why he was asking; he knew that the answer would only aggravate him.

“Good is what I do,” Doug said. “A mile and a half to a mile and three-quarters in twelve minutes. You do that, you’re ready for anything.”

Well, bully for you, Bob thought.

“Have to keep that cardiovascular system humming,” Doug said. “Strengthen the muscles.”

“Mmm.” Bob nodded. “Well, I’m… obviously not ready for the Olympics. But I’m not ready for the undertaker either. I don’t smoke. I drink sparingly. Watch my diet, take vitamins.”

“Uh-huh.” Doug’s nod was dismissive.

“What are we gonna see on this hike?” Bob asked to change the subject.

“Oh…” Doug gestured vaguely. “Forest. Meadows. Cliffs. Streams. Rivers. Finally, the old Wiley place.”

“What’s that?” Bob asked.

“Deserted lodge. Built back in the twenties. When we reach it, we’re almost to the cabin.”

Bob nodded. Doug fell silent again and he racked his mind for another question. Otherwise, Doug might start lecturing again.

“What kind of trees are those?” he asked, pointing.

“Douglas fir,” Doug answered.

“Got a tree named after you, very impressive,” Bob said.

Doug showed no sign of amusement but became silent again, closing his eyes.

“Wow,” Bob said, “look at that big bird up there.”

Doug opened his eyes and looked up. “Red-tailed hawk,” he muttered.

“It’s beautiful,” Bob said.

Doug grunted. “I suppose.” He yawned. “You’ll see all kinds of birds out here. Hawks. Owls. Jays. Chickadees—”

He broke off and Bob caught his breath at a strange, clattering noise overhead. Looking up, he saw two animals running through the trees. One of them soared between two branches.

“They’re not squirrels,” he said.

“Pine martens,” Doug told him. “They like to chase each other.”

Bob chuckled as the two thick-legged martens disappeared in the overhead branches, making bark dust and twigs rain down.

He started to speak when Doug said, “I’m going to take a ten-minute nap.” Laying his head back, he closed his eyes again. Ten minutes? Bob thought. Could he do that?

He stared at Doug for almost a minute. Doug was handsome enough: well-proportioned features, full head of black hair, athletic build. But he sure could be a pain in the ass.

He lay his head back and closed his eyes.

Was this a mistake after all? he wondered. His past relationship with Doug had never been a close one. He and Marian had gone once to the cabin when Doug and Nicole were still married. Doug had been doing reasonably well then: a small, running part in a detective series; it was on that set that he’d become acquainted with Doug.

The weekend had been a tense one. Doug and Nicole were obviously getting close to a divorce, their behavior during the weekend not easy to experience, filled with arguments—about their son Artie, about Doug’s limited career, hints (from Nicole) about Doug’s womanizing.

Doug tried to cover it all with laughter and charm; he could be charming when he wanted to. At least he was on that weekend.

Bob had made the mistake—he felt now that it was a mistake—of mentioning the backpacking novel he was planning to write. When he spoke about the research he’d done, Doug had insisted that the only proper research he could do would be to actually take a backpacking trip—and he was the one to take Bob on it. Bob had expressed interest and gratitude at the offer. Now he wasn’t sure it was a good idea after all. Since things had been going poorly for Doug’s career (he was back working with a building contractor again) his disposition had darkened somewhat.

And I have three whole days ahead to be with him, he thought, maybe four.

Yippee.

He twitched as something landed on his lap. Jerking open his eyes, he looked down and saw an energy bar lying on his right leg.