Don't Cry for Me

One moment he was pushing through a thicket of brush, and the next he had to jump to keep from stepping on the body.

The man was lying on his side, covered in dirt and leaves and an abundance of dried blood. One leg had claw marks all the way from thigh to calf, with ants swarming the wounds. When he rolled over onto his back and saw Quinn, he started to cry.

“Thank God, thank God.”

“Are you Robert or Wayne?” Quinn asked.

“I’m Robert Lane. Wayne is… Wayne is…”

Quinn put a hand on his shoulder. “I found him. Just rest easy, man. I’m Quinn Walker with the ranger service. Help is already on the way. Give me a second. I need to let them know I found you.” He took out his two-way.

“Dispatch, this is Walker, over.”

“Go ahead, Walker.”

“I’ve got one alive. I’m sending GPS coordinates. Send me some help, ASAP.”

“Copy that, Walker. Help is on the way.”

Quinn eyed the area carefully, then dropped his backpack and knelt by Robert. He took out his canteen and lifted the man’s head, slowly pouring water into his dry, cracked lips.

Robert grabbed frantically at the water, wanting all of it at once.

“Easy,” Quinn said. “A little bit at a time so you don’t choke, okay?”

Then he poured a little on a rag and wiped some crusted blood from one eye.

Robert groaned.

“Sorry, man,” Quinn said softly, and doused the leg liberally with water, washing off the ants. “Did the bear follow you?”

“I don’t know.”

“What happened? Why did it attack?”

Robert moaned and then started to cry. “I don’t know. It was coming up the trail toward us. The minute it saw us it charged. We never had a chance. It swiped at me first. I went down, and Wayne grabbed a branch and started screaming and yelling, trying to get the bear’s attention.”

Robert paused, choked on a sob and then broke down and wept.

Quinn let him cry. He knew how it felt to watch a friend die. He gave Robert another drink of water, and finally he was able to finish the story.

“Wayne saved my life. The bear ripped his belly open with one swipe. I heard him scream.” Robert shuddered. “He was screaming and screaming, and then all of a sudden it was over. Wayne was…you know, and the bear was tearing into him like he was starving. I got up and ran. I ran. I ran away and left him like a coward.”

“No. He was already dead,” Quinn said. “Would you have had his sacrifice go for nothing? He did what he did to save your life. It would have been a stupid move not to try and get away, okay?”

Robert nodded, but he was crying again.

“How old are you, Robert?”

“Twenty. Wayne was twenty-two. We’ve been best friends since I was in the sixth grade. Oh, my God, this is going to kill his mom and dad.”

Quinn touched the other man’s forearm. “Death is always a hard thing to face, but it comes to all of us eventually. Just hang in there.”

Robert moaned. “I think I’m gonna pass out. Don’t lea—”

“I won’t leave you, man. I promise.”

Robert Lane’s eyes rolled back in his head.

Quinn felt for a pulse. It was too rapid. The wounds were showing signs of infection. The guy would be lucky if he didn’t lose the leg.

He stood up with his rifle steady in his grip. It wasn’t the first time he’d stood guard over a man who was down.

He contacted the ranger station again.

“This is Walker. Do you copy?”

“Go ahead, Walker.”

“From what the hiker said, I think we’ve got a rogue bear. It’s either sick or been injured. Might need to send some trackers up here to find it before it attacks someone else.”

“Copy that, Walker. I’ll pass the message on.”

“Walker out,” Quinn said, and pocketed his radio, then resumed guard.

It was close to an hour before he heard a chopper, and somewhat later before he heard people coming up the trail. He was deep into the trees, but they had his coordinates. They would find him. When he began to hear voices, he called out until the rescue crew came into view.

Within minutes they had the hiker’s condition assessed, started an IV in his arm, sluiced the rest of the ants out of his wounds with disinfectant, loaded him onto a stretcher and strapped him down. The eight-man crew would take turns, two at a time, carrying him down the mountain to the clearing where the evac chopper was waiting.

Another crew was recovering the other hiker’s remains. It would be dark before Quinn got home.

* * *

Quinn drove up to the cabin, turned off the headlights of his Jeep and got out. With the sun down, the air was already getting cool. He took his boots off on the deck, unlocked the door and then carried them through to the utility room. He would clean them up later, but not now. He needed to wash the blood off himself first.

He stripped where he stood, tossed his clothes into the washing machine and started it up before heading through the house to his loft. Within minutes he was standing beneath a spray of hot water with his eyes closed, willing away the gore of what he’d seen.

His life was solitary for a reason. Until he could figure out how to cope with his flashbacks and nightmares, he wasn’t in any frame of mind to build a personal relationship. He knew this and accepted it, but it didn’t make the lonely nights any easier to get past.

* * *

A couple of hours later he’d finished cleaning up in the kitchen and grabbed a beer as he headed for the sofa. Even though living in the mountains was usually a recipe for poor-to-no phone or TV signals, the satellite dish he’d had mounted on the roof served him well. There were a couple of shows he liked to watch, and later he hoped to catch the local news to see if they reported on the injured hiker’s condition.

He’d just kicked back and reached for the remote when his cell began to ring. The Caller ID showed an Out Of Area message. He frowned as he answered.

“Walker.”

“Quinn, it’s me, B. J. Pettyjohn.”