NOTE: I've rated this part R for the rough language used (coarse men speak a coarse language).

CAPS = loudness
bold = the things a deaf man won't notice
italics = the things telepaths can notice


Climb That Mountain High - Part 3
Beverly McIntyre

Hank Smith had been a logger all his life. He had the caluses on his hands to prove it. He could think of no other way of life for himself. This was the life his father and his grandfather had lived, and hopefully, this would be the life his own son would live. It was long hours and dirty work, but it was satisfying work. It was man against nature out there. The job was simple, fell the right tree and move on to the next.

But today had been a bit different from Hank's normal routine. His son had fallen out of a tree and broke his arm last night. After spending the morning in the hospital with his son, Hank resigned himself to another day out in the wilds of Washington. He had to work. It was part of him, and after spending a numbing morning in the hospital, he needed to get his mind back on something. The time spent outdoors made Hank feel more like himself than anything else. It gave him a connection to something greater than he could ever explain to anybody.

Hank watched the trees pass by outside of the passenger-side window. He sat in his best friend's truck, tooling down the makeshift road to the work site. The leather apolstry creaked as Hank shifted his weight nervously. He couldn't wait to get back to work. Logging made him feel like he was doing something. He always had to be doing something.

"So, Hank, howz your son doin'?" Dave asked, trying to break the monotiny of the drive.

"Jus' broke his arm is all. He'll be fine," Hank said absently, lost in thought while his fingers tapped a rhythm out on his leg.

Dave shook his head. Hank might be his best friend, but the man just got lost in his own little world a little too often. Usually Hank just did that when he was out cutting the trees. Maybe his son gave him more food for thought. Unintentionally, Dave pressed down on the accelerator. Dave was a sociable man who didn't think much of silence. The sooner he got this quiet ride over, the better.

"Y'know, Dave, I've been thinkin'," Hank said after a few minutes of silence. "I was thinkin' 'bout how much I like loggin'. I was thinkin' about that and wondered if my son will want to follow in my footsteps."

"C'mon now, Hank," Dave chided. "Y'know that boy worships the ground you walk on. He doesn't think about being an adult without bein' one of us. I mean-"

Dave was interrupted by a deer streaking right in front of his truck. Dave slammed on his brakes, but it was too late. Thud. Dave and Hank lurched forward. The deer bounced off of the front of the truck and landed at the side of the road. Dave and Hank glanced at each other before climbing out of the truck. Dave walked around to the front of his truck while Hank walked over to where the deer was now lying beside the road.

"Shit." Dave said after looking at the front of his truck. "That thing went and dented my grill."

Hank ignored his friend and crouched down next to the deer. It was still breathing as far as he could tell. It stirred slightly when Hank reached over and touched it. It looked up at Hank with liquid brown eyes that were shrouded in pain.

"Great," Dave fumed. "This is just so fuckin' great."

"Dave?"

"Yeah, Hank," Dave answered without looking away from his dented grill.

"Help me get this deer into the back of your truck." Dave looked up from his truck and scowled at his friend.

"It's gonna die, Hank. Just leave it alone."

"I think we should do something."

"We're gonna do nothin', Hank. That deer was fuckin' dumb enough to run out in front of my truck. It got what it deserved." Dave walked back over to the driver's side and opened the door. "We're late as it is."

As Dave climbed back in the truck and slammed his door shut, Hank looked back down at the deer. Its eyes were pleading with him to end the pain. Hank unsteadily got to his feet and walked over to the truck.

"Dave, hand me one of your guns."

"We don't got time for this."

"Dave, hand me one of your guns."

"None of them are loaded, Hank. I drive my kids around in this truck. Do you think I'm going to leave a loaded fuckin' gun in my truck?"

"We have to do something."

"Look, if your so hell-bent on putting that dumb creature out of its misery, you'll have to wait 'til we get to camp. Bob is sure to have a loaded gun in the cabin. Now, get in the fuckin' truck."

Hank looked back at the deer. It was feebly trying to get to its feet. There was nothing that he could do for it here.

"Alright," Hank said reluctantly. He walked back over to the passenger's side and climbed back in. The truck slowly started back down the road.


Hank walked back into camp with Bob's rifle slung over his shoulder. The deer had been dead by the time he had gotten back there. He probably could have ended the pain sooner if Dave had agreed to drive him back there. Dave had adamantly said he wasn't about to waste time by checking on a creature that was already dead. Besides, Dave had said, they had work to do.

Hank couldn't get the picture of those brown eyes out of his head. Those brown eyes looking up at him, pleading for help. Soon those liquid eyes turned into the bright hazel ones of his son. They were still pleading with him. Hank shook his head to clear the thoughts. He didn't need to be distracted on the job. It's all he would need for a picture perfect day to have a two ton tree squish him flat, making his wife a widow well before she should.

Hank had gotten to about the middle of the camp when he noticed something was very wrong. The camp was too quiet. Sure there were the common woodland sounds of the birds and animals going through their day, but there wasn't the incessant sound of chainsaws going or any heavy machinery working.

Hank looked around camp. He didn't see anyone either. The hairs on the back of his neck were starting to stand on end. It was like he had just walked into an episode of that one show. What was it called? The X-Files or something?

Out of the corner of his eye, Hank spotted a familiar pair of green work boots. Only one guy in all of the logging company wore boots like those. Vern was a big man with a laugh that could shake the very foundations of mountains. Hank jogged over in that direction.

"Hey. Hey, Vern. What's goin' on he-" Hank's throat closed up when he made it over to Vern. The big man was not his normally jolly self. A look of sheer terror was frozen on his face. Vern's big, meaty fist was closed around the shaft of an arrow that had transfixed him to the tree behind him. The arrow looked to be shot right through the heart. Feeling his stomach start to rise, Hank backed away from the gruesome sight. His heel bumped into something behind him.

Hank slowly turned with his eyes closed, praying that he had only bumped into a fallen log. When Hank opened his eyes, he felt his stomach roil again. Bob lay on the ground, arrow pierced through his heart. Bob was a small, wiry man who had always been the butt of many runt jokes told throughout the camp. But he had always taken those jokes in stride, his blue eyes sparkling in amusement along with everyone else. Now those blue eyes were dull and lifeless, staring into the canopy of trees. Hank started to back away, toward where most of the trucks were parked.

Snap. Hank whirled toward the sound. The rifle unslung and in his hands. He leveled the barrel at the bushes where the sound came from. Trying not to let fear get the better of him, Hank tried to speak in his most commanding tone. It came out as a thirteen year-old's squeak.

"Come out of there. Come out where I can see you."

A pair of hands peeked out of the bushes, held up in surrender. A familiar figure rose out of the bushes.

"Hank? Is that you?" Dave looked scared and worn.

"Dave?" Hank had never been so happy to see his friend. The barrel of Bob's rifle dipped to the ground. "What's going on here?"

Dave stepped out from behind the bushes and lowered his arms. "I don't know man. One minute we were jus' talkin' about nothing, the next this blond lady shows up and starts killin' people with a bow and arrows. She's been chasin' me through the woods. I think I lost her. Let's get out of here, Hank. I don't want to be here anymore."

Hank nodded in agreement and started toward Dave's truck. Dave, himself, sped right past Hank. Dave was about five steps away from his truck when he stumbled and fell. Hank sped up to help his friend to his feet, but stopped suddenly when he saw the arrow sticking out of his friend's leg. Hank whirled with the gun raised, ready to fire.

His finger froze in position, unable to pull the trigger at the sight that greeted him. A blond woman stood at the opposite side of the camp, an ornately carved bow in her hands. Her silvery blue eyes, raging with a righteous fire, met with Hank's hazel ones, and she lowered her bow.

"You are a friend to nature. I deem you worthy to leave."

Hank felt a lump form in his throat as the archer started to walk toward him. The lump continued to grow as she got closer, soon making it extremely hard from him to draw another breath. But this foreign woman didn't stop by him. She continued on beyond him, toward a scared silent Dave. Hank could only turn and watch as the woman crouched down next to his best friend. Fear had taken away the ability to do any more.

She looked down at Dave with contempt. "For your crimes against nature and all her children, green or other wise, I find you guilty to utmost. The sentence for your most recent transaction is a slow death similar to the one you caused." The archer set her bow down and picked up Dave with both of her hands. She picked him up so that his feet dangled off of the ground. The fire flashed behind her eyes and she threw Dave bodily against the nearest tree. Hank could hear the loud crack of many bones breaking inside of his friend. Dave slumped to the ground with blood starting to trickle out of the corner of his mouth. Hank had a feeling that Dave was still alive, just broken to pieces inside and dying slowly.

The woman bent over and picked her bow off of the ground. She turned to Hank. "A goddess does not keep her decrees for very long when one flaunts them. You, Hank Smith, best leave my hunting grounds before I change my mind."

Not knowing how this lady knew his name or how she could be so strong, Hank nodded dumbly. The rifle fell out of numb fingers and Hank sped off into the woods, running away. Has to be one of them goddamn muties.

The goddess watched Hank disappear into the woods and shook her head. Mortals seem to have gotten less intelligent in her absence. There was a small gurgle of protest from the one named Dave. Artemis just smirked at him and disappeared back into the woods, heading deeper into the forest.