The Wasteland Saga

Everything was moving too fast.

He could feel the tomahawk hanging from his belt, the knife in its sheath at his back.

What am I missing?

Mind over matter, Boy.

You don’t mind, it don’t matter.

HE CLIMBED THE conical hill, hauling himself up its snow-covered granite ledges. He avoided any pines that grew out of the rock, knowing them to be untrustworthy because of the shallow soil they grew in.

He found the cave just underneath the top of the hill. It would be a useless exercise if the cave was too low for Horse to squeeze into. What would be the use of dislodging the bear only to find his shelter too small? But the cave was like a wide frown on a mouth. It was tall enough at its highest point for Horse. Getting him up here would be another story—collecting wood also.

It’s not ideal, but it’s all I have.

You’re assuming victory, Boy. First you got to kill that bear. But it’s good you’re thinkin’ about tomorrow all the same.

A wide, flat ledge lay before the opening and below that, a sheer drop to the river below. He set the poles down, laying them gently in a crevice running through the cold gray granite. The poles came together, echoing, and the Boy waited, unsure what he would do if the bear were suddenly to appear.

I’ll attack her.

That would be bad, Boy.

But what else was there to do? If she chases me I won’t get away. If I attack, maybe she’ll run.

In the moment that followed, the Boy could hear only the distant sound of the river below.

On a thick tree, stunted and growing out of the rock, he could see the deep indentations of the bear’s claw marks.

What do you know about your enemy, Boy?

It’s a bear.

A sow.

Cubs two years back, which means they’ve left.

I don’t know if it’s a grizzly or one of the browns, which are the worst. Too bad it’s not one of the black ones.

And you would ask me about the battlefield. That’s what you would ask me next, Sergeant Presley.

Where you gonna fight, Boy?

He looked at the flat ledge. It wasn’t more than twenty feet wide and as much across.

I could make a trap, but I don’t know where. I’d have to get her down the hill and chasing me.

Deadfalls are the best, Boy.

To do that, I’ll have to get her down the side of the mountain and into the forest. Even then, the ground is frozen. It would take me a day or two to make a pit. One more night like the last and we won’t make it.

So it’s the ledge then, Boy.

I go in hard with a spear. If she’s asleep I put one into her. I back up, grab another and put it in. By the time I get to the third…

You’ll be at the edge of the cliff. That drop’ll do the job, Boy.

She’ll have to have a reason to go over.

If you’ve put three spears into her, Boy, you’ll be the reason. All she can think of at that point is wanting you dead and then going back to sleep.

Here’s what you do, you anchor the parachute cord and tie it about your waist, Boy. Wait until the last second and she’ll follow you over.

Numbly he took the coil of rope off his neck. His heart was beating quickly.

He told himself to calm down. To stop.

Just do this. Don’t think too much about it.

He crept toward the frowning entrance of the cave. There was a short drop inside. On the floor below, he could see a shapeless mass in the dark. The cave smelled of animals. He listened. He heard nothing. He waited, watching the shapeless mass. His vision narrowed as he stared hard, willing the details to be revealed.

He blinked and looked away as his vision began to close to a pinpoint. His heart was pounding in his ears.

Stop.

He crawled back out onto the ledge.

The drop was a good two hundred feet into the rapids.

I’m not really going to do this, am I?

Mind over matter, Boy.

He played the rope out, tying it about his waist.

They don’t make this stuff anymore. Airborne Ranger gear, Boy. Best ever.

You’d said that, every time you brought it out, Sergeant. Every time we made a trap or a snare, you said that.

I was proud of what had once been. Proud that someone had made parachute cord. I had no right to be, Boy. But I was proud all the same.

The Boy searched the underside of the ledge.

A few feet below the edge and off to the side, a rugged little pine jutted out from the rock wall.

It’s all I have.

To the west, large clouds, gray and full, rolled across the high peaks.

More snow tonight.

It will be very cold.

He climbed down the cliff face.

He loved to climb.

For a boy who had been born crippled and could not run as others did, climbing was an activity where the playing field leveled.

He had always climbed.

The Boy clung to the side of the rock wall. He spent more rope than he would have liked securing it to the pine. But he had to.

When he’d climbed back onto the ledge his muscles were shaking.

I need water and I’ve forgotten to bring the bag.

What else am I forgetting?

He felt fear rise again as he cupped a handful of snow and put it in his mouth.

In just a moment I’ll have to do this.

Stop.

Mind over matter, Boy.

I don’t mind. It won’t matter.

That’s right, Boy. That’s good.

A strong wind came off the mountain peaks above and whipped long hair into his green eyes.

He brushed it away.

What else am I forgetting?

When he picked up the first pole it felt too light.

It felt hollow like he could break it across his knee.

He laid it down just in front of the cliff’s edge, pointing toward the frowning mouth of the cave.

The second pole felt heavier. He placed it at the entrance.

When he went back for the third, it felt lighter than the second and he switched it out. ‘I’ll want the heaviest one first,’ he thought.

Crouching low and entering the cave, he felt the rope pull taut at his waist.

It won’t reach. I won’t be able to get close enough to make the most of the spear.

He undid the rope about his waist and changed to a slipknot.