Chapter 8: Downsdale Red Forest


Bodie was on the run.

He staggered through thick foliage, shrubs, bushes and ferns that reached higher than his hips. Everything was soaking wet, muddy and slippery. The rain drummed down relentlessly, endlessly and icily cold. Bodie didn't have any kind of protection. No clothing, no shoes - nothing. Shivering beyond control he ran on his bare feet and stepped on sharp little things that were all over the boggy soil, while rain and branches vied to torment his naked body first.

He was so terribly dizzy. Every fifty yards he had to stop, hold on to a tree, take deep breaths and then he could not stop himself from retching. Nothing but bile came - there was nothing left in his stomach. He had vomited a zillion times or more. The world was spinning like mad, his head hurt as if an axe was wedged permanently into it and that confused the signals to his arms and his legs and his feet. They didn't do what he wanted them to do. As if they lived a life of their own. He wanted to run forward and suddenly found himself swaying to the right and falling flat on his face over branches that were in his way.

He couldn't remember the last time he had been so cold. It slowed him down even more. His control fading rapidly he fought to get one foot in front of the other. Bodie blinked to get the water from his eyes when he tried to see something through the thick grey curtain of rain that came down and he knew he wouldn't last much longer: he had to find shelter, and then he had to get warm.

What kept him alive he didn't know. The young man had stood before him, the gun held high less than four feet from him. Even though he was hardly able to make out the details, Bodie saw the muzzle of the gun remarkably sharply. Was this it? The end? The inevitable? Had it finally arrived? Was this boy the Grim Reaper who came to collect him at last?

Bodie wanted to shut his eyes and avoid seeing the bullet leave the gun and and force itself into his body and end his life. At the same time, he couldn't close his eyes. Dark blue they'd be and piercing with pride and anger, that's how his opponent would see them. If he was to die, he'd make sure his last lock would be with the eyes of his murderer. So that his killer would never be able to shake that image.

Any second now he expected the gun to fire. Feel the bullet enter his heart or his brain and life fleeing his mortal remains.

Ray, I'm sorry. I forgot to return your Frank Sinatra album. I wanted to give it back, but… well... you know... I kinda liked it. A lot, actually.

There was no afterlife. There was just the here and now.

Be careful for Betty Updike. She's mean and bitchy and you don't want to date her.

Maybe there was a God. He'd probably look like George Cowley.

You can have everything I own, Ray. You're my best friend. Sorry to bail out on you.

It was strange that one could see things so clearly when the end was near.

.-.-.-.

One shot, one sound. An echo, distant.

Bodie braced himself for the impact.

Another shot, another sound and its logical echo, far away.

'Get up,' a trembling voice urged him. 'Mister. Hey. Bodie. Whatever your name is. Get up. Get out of here.'

Huh? This was not the end? But he was sure he'd heard the shots.

'Wake up, goddammit!'

Bodie came to his senses when he noticed the frantic tugging and pulling were not in his mind, but part of reality.

'Go! Get out of here!' snarled the youngster holding the gun. 'Whadda ya waitin' for?' he almost cried out and pulled Bodie to his feet. 'Move! Scram! Get out of here! As far as you can! Go before they get here! GO!'

Bodie did what he was told. In his weakened, delirious state he was unable to really understand what was happening, but he did grasp that death waited a little longer to claim him. Self-preservation got the upper hand and forced him to move, to put one foot in front of the other. He plodded on, stumbled forward, knowing that with every step he took he enlarged the distance.

He had no idea where he was going. In fact, he didn't even know where he was. Not that that was a conscious thought - all his energy was focussed on survival. The trees grew closer together, the shrubberies became thicker and insurmountable and whatever passage there was, had long since vanished. The ground was going up and down, as the terrain became more uneven. On some subconscious level Bodie realised he was moving deeper into the forest. He also knew he couldn't go on much longer like this. He needed shelter. He needed help.

Ray, if there was ever I moment I needed you...

He moved on, driven by autopilot. He had to. If he stopped, he would not be able to get up again.

What the hell is keeping you so long?

There was no telling how long he had moved, fallen, gotten up again and swayed and staggered on. Big boulders had appeared in the landscape and Bodie stopped for a few seconds, held on to the wet cold stones and took shaky, ragged breaths.

Move. Come on, go. Don't let them find you. Move. Go.

He had exactly taken two more steps after that brief pause when the ground opened up and Bodie tumbled down a deep, dark hole.

Without the naked man running for his life, the forrest turned back to the way it had been for countless years. Apart from the rain, nothing disturbed its peace.

-.-.-.-

(tbc)