There were so many muscles in the feet. Primal man had possessed incredibly strong and agile feet resistant to most terrains. The advent of shoes, more so than anything else perhaps, was mankind’s first great step away from his proper existence. Now feet were weak, helpless without thick rubber soles that had tread like tires or even spikes.
Victor had walked up here barefoot before and loved every sensation of being so intimate with the earth but he couldn’t do that today. Normal people used boots and he had to keep that facade up as long as possible.
It was sad to think that if someone came across a completely primal human being, that someone would be horrified.
“We have forgotten who we are,” Victor said. “We have lost our purpose.”
Victor, however, had not forgotten nor lost his purpose. He continued up the trail, slashing an occasional tree along the way.
TWENTY
Hiking was supposed to be calming, some great trek through nature that made you reconnect with the natural world in a profound way. That was bullshit. Mercy’s thighs burned. Muscles in her back cramped. Her feet throbbed in the hiking boots Dad had bought for her two days ago. Several times, she stepped on a small rock or protruding branch and almost twisted her ankle. If she had it would be relief. They could go back home. Getting down the mountain with a swollen ankle posed its own challenges that might make her cry if she thought too much about it, but homeward bound was better than this ascent.
Dad stayed a few feet ahead and though his breathing grew rapid and shallow he never wavered and his every step was strong and solid. She wanted to tell him to slow down to not tire himself out.
She didn’t say anything. She had to be the good daughter. The strong one. Mom was gone and Dad might be gone soon too but she had to keep it together. Dad said there was strength in her. If she believed that, then maybe she could be the supportive daughter he needed right now.
Finally, with her heart racing and her sweatshirt forming a heated dome over her breasts, she said she needed to rest.
He didn’t pause. “We’re almost there, honey,” he said. “I promise.”
“Dad, I can’t.”
“Just a little further,” he said.
She had slowed to a crawl while he had continued up the path so the gap between them was getting considerable. He was still talking, saying she just had to dig deep, find the strength, and before she’d know it, they would be at the camping site. Remember your track days. A little belief, that’s all it took. Come on, you can do it.
She slung off her bag and let it drop. “No,” she said but he didn’t hear her. She dropped to the ground and winced as her bony ass absorbed the fall. “It was cross country!” she shouted. “Not track!”
He kept going. She glanced around for a rock or something and then laughed. Was she really going to throw a rock at her father? No, of course not. She would throw it near him, something to get his attention. Christ, he looked like one of the damn dwarfs whistling his way off to the mine. How could he not be tired? Didn’t he realize he had cancer? Didn’t he know that if he got exhausted, he could, he could . . . What? He wasn’t going to drop dead from hiking. Not unless he had a heart attack.
“Dad!” she shouted and finally he turned.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I need a breather.”
He thought for a moment, glanced up the trail and back toward her. “I’m going to see if it’s up here and I’ll be back.”
She almost told him not to bother. If he really cared so damn much about finding the camping site, he could trek all day by himself and forget all about her. She kept her anger in check. He was excited, that’s all. Ironically, telling his daughter about his cancer had probably given him a boost of energy. Like being freed from a jail cell. And here she was trying to hold him back again.
She got up slowly. Her legs palsied and she feared she might collapse again but the muscles tightened and she could stand. She waved to her father. Cross country had never been this hard.
Lifting the bag once more onto her back felt like heaving a boulder, like something she’d never be free of.
TWENTY-ONE
There was one other tent set up on the camping site. It was a one-man yellow half-cylinder shape that was really more like a puffed-up sleeping bag. Victor had been prepared to handle it if several people had been up here, but he had known they wouldn’t be. Blood Mountain was not the popular spot some believed. Its view could not rival that of Schunemunk Mountain, which offered an unobstructed panorama of the Hudson Valley as well as the opportunity to run across a trestle spanning the length of a long, deep valley. Assuming you weren’t afraid of approaching commuter trains.
Blood Mountain was the lesser brother and only frequented usually by the more experienced hikers or the loners. Families did make the trek every once and a while and, usually over July Fourth weekend, a drove of families filled this camping spot because, unlike Schunemunk’s quest for natural preservation, Blood Mountain had created this camping site to lure in the tourists. If the place ever got really popular, people would probably have to pay to stay.
So sad.
So pathetic.
Victor was nestled far enough past the edge of the camping area to be unnoticeable unless someone headed right for him. His bag was next to him, his shoes and socks were off, and his knife was in hand. He could wait like this for hours. He wouldn’t have to, but he could, if needed. It was comforting knowing that about himself. He did not suffer boredom like most people. There was more than enough stimuli to keep his eyes moving and his brain analyzing.
A squirrel ran past him. Maybe it was the same one. It had stalked him up the mountain. Now that would be something special. He let the squirrel pass without incident. There were far more important things to wait for.
His original plan, the one the universe had first offered to him, had required Victor to stay in this spot until nightfall. He would wait for the woman and her father to fall asleep and then he would make his move. If they had separate tents, it would be incredibly easy. If they had one large tent, Victor could handle that as well, though it might get messy.
The plan was simple and efficient. Primal-man efficient.
The universe had changed that this morning at the diner. It brought him face to face with the woman and offered those teenagers as the perfect set-up for a far more elaborate scheme, yet one that could prove immensely successful if he could keep his calm. If he let events take their natural course, Victor would be heralded in the highest echelons of the cleansers. He would gain his spot of greatness on this mountain and have the woman to satisfy his needs.
In the meantime, he had to wait.
He took out his phone and smiled at the slash through the service icon. He opened his image files and scrolled slowly through the pictures of Mercy Higgins. In one of them, she was bending over to place a few books on a low shelf and her wide-necked shirt had fallen open. Her breasts were small and perfectly shaped. He hadn’t believed his luck when he took that photo.
It was destiny.
The universe had decreed it.
She would be his.
He scrolled faster through the images and undid his belt.
TWENTY-TWO
