Char - First Chapter

 The dream felt solid.  The night breeze felt right.  The touch of Char's bare feet on the ground, the brush of the leaves against her arms, the weight and texture of her wooden spear and her hand-ax; they all felt right.  The pain from the spear wound in her leg felt all too real. 

The forest felt wrong, though.  Char recognized none of the familiar places of her forest.  This forest felt empty compared to hers.  She could hear or smell the small night creatures but Char sensed no creatures larger than the three men that followed her.

The men felt wrong, too.  Three men, armed and not of The Real People, therefore enemies.  Moonlight bounced off their short, oddly shaped spears.   They were wrapped in skins from their necks to their feet in spite of the summer's warmth.  Their eyes were very wrong.  They were at the end of stalks the length and width of her thumb and they let these enemies follow her even when the moon went behind a cloud. 

Not a dream.  This is the place of death.  I died back in the raid. The thought pushed into the center of Char's mind from the edges where it had been lurking.  She pushed it back to the edges, but it grew stronger there.

 The dream enemies walked boldly, noisily, arrogantly, as if the forest belonged to them so completely that nothing in it could challenge them.  The way they walked angered Char but made her cautious.  It implied power.

The old men of her people claimed that to die in a dream meant to die in truth.  What if she died in this empty dream forest and also died in her body which must still be sleeping beside her son?  She stopped suddenly. When did the dream start?  With the attack of the Eastern Enemies or when the night flickered and those enemies disappeared?  Could she be dead or dying from the raid?

Not a dream. The thought jumped back into the center of her mind from the periphery where it lurked and grew.  Too solid.  Too much pain.  Real.  This is the place of death.  She pushed the thought aside again, but with difficulty.   

Char shook her head and focused on the problems of the 'dream world'.  What powers did the dream enemies possess? How could they threaten her?  She stopped again and shut down most of her mind so she could concentrate on that problem.  The dream world faded to faint gray-on-gray shadows.

Dangerous how?  What can they do?  Very strong?  No.  Could tell from the way they moved.   See in the dark? Yes, but not enough.  Why no large animals? Hunted out.  Even the most powerful of beasts?  Yes, but that means incredible power.  Where from?   Spears?  No.  One spear only for each.  Can't be for throwing far or would carry more than one.  Rarely miss?  Shape wrong.  Would not fly right.

Char shifted her attention back to the forest around her.  Her legs and arms felt heavy after the focus, and she took a deep breath.  Her enemies stopped and one of them dabbed at his arm, then pushed his eye-stalks up to the top of his head.  Not eyes.  A mask to see in the dark.  For some reason that made her enemies seem a little less dangerous.

Char realized why her enemies stopped.  She grinned.  Go ahead.  Find the trophy I hid in the tree above you, and know that Char is a dangerous enemy.  The enemies did not climb the tree.  Instead they stood under it, still far beyond spear range.  The moon came out from behind the clouds and Char got a better look at her enemies.  One of them seemed much bigger than the others, huge and bulky in the moonlight.  The big enemy raised his weapon.  One of the others shouted at him and shoved the tip of the spear up.  Char thought she saw something come out of the tip of the spear, moving faster than her eyes could track it.  In the distance, Char heard a sound a like a spear being driven hard into the trunk of a tree, yet suggesting concentrated power like nothing she had ever encountered. 

Fear gave Char's legs speed.  The moon came out and she gained ground on the dream enemies.  The lurking thought forced its way back to the center of her mind again.  You're already dead.  Why run?  Why struggle?

She kept moving fast until the moon went back behind the clouds again.  She sensed a fourth enemy in front of her when he broke a twig.  Char moved quickly at a right angle to the ambush, but had to slow down in the nearly total darkness.  She stopped and let the world fade around her again.

Can throw something, but what?  Thunderbolts?  No, but something dangerous.  How far can they throw them?  They were too far away at first, then close enough.  Too far now.  Point spear to throw bolt.  Why did the man shove the spear up?  Want to capture.  Why?  Torture.  If they catch me I'll sing them a song to make them fear the Real People forever.

  What did the enemy shout?  Meaningless sounds. Char replayed the sounds in her mind.  "Never shoot unless you know what you're shooting at."  Gibberish. 

Char returned her attention to the dream world.  She staggered as the weakness from the second focus flowed through her.  The moon stayed stubbornly behind the clouds, and Char had to pick her way carefully through the forest.  Abruptly she heard swift-running water.  It seemed to come from three sides of her.  She looked back.  The dream men had spread out.  Char moved forward and confirmed her fears.  She was in the bend of a river wide enough that she couldn't see across it in the darkness.

***

Rick Blair strained to make out details of the green blob that he saw through his night vision goggles.  "Doesn't quite look like Weasel Boy."

Bruce Golden shook his head, sending perspiration from his prematurely balding head down onto his goggles.  "Don't call him that."

Rick's cousin, Erik Davis grinned.  "Why not?  He's the enemy, at least for this round.  Besides, it fits."

            Rick said, "Let's see.  How about 'The Sociopath Kid', or 'Mr. Snorts Coke and Beat His Ex-Wife'.  Hmmm.  No.  Weasel Boy sums it up.  Erik, why did we invite him here again?"

            Erik said, "Because Bruce wants you two to be friends.  Oh, and because I liked the idea of shooting him with a bunch of paint balls."

Bruce said, "How about just calling him Ken?  You're twenty-five.  Time to get over high school."

            "He hasn't," Rick said.  He wiped perspiration off his forehead.  It was after eleven, but the Midwestern July night still felt uncomfortably hot and humid.  Rick brushed against a bush and felt something moist and sticky on his arm.  He looked at his arm through his night-vision goggles, then back at the bush, then at the ground.  He flipped the goggles up and turned on his flashlight.

"Guys, I think we've got a problem."

Erik looked over at him.  "What is it?"

Rick touched the spot on his arm.  "I think it's blood.  Someone else is out here and they're bleeding.  It's time to put paintball on hold.  I say we call Weasel Boy—Ken--in, and figure out what's happening.  We need somebody with a cell phone in case someone's hurt."

Bruce shook his head.  "First, we gave Ken our cell phones--."

            "So we couldn't use them to coordinate against him," Rick said. "Which was a mistake."

Bruce continued.  "And second, you're over-reacting.  Who else would be in this God-forsaken neck of the woods on Fourth-of-July weekend?"

Erik said, "This God-forsaken neck of the woods happens to be my farm."

Bruce aimed his paintball gun at the figure in front of them.  "Probably too far, but maybe I'll get lucky and end this now."

Erik knocked the barrel up just before the paintball gun went off.  "Never shoot unless you know what you're shooting at."

"It's paintball.  Who cares?

"Not even in paintball."

Rick asked, "So, are we going to call it off?"

"Why should we?"

"Because it's just a game and somebody's hurt out here," Rick said.  "I think it's a woman."

Bruce snorted.  "How could you know that?"

"Let's just say they have a little more up top than Ken would."

"All I see is a green blob.  Could be Bigfoot for all I know.  You need a girlfriend."  Bruce wiped a red spot off his shoulder.  "Your so-called blood is dripping from the tree.  Probably sap.  I say we catch up to whoever it is.  If it's Ken, we pelt him with paint balls.  If it's someone else, we ask them what they are doing on Erik's farm.  Oh, and even from here I can barely tell the two of you apart with these goggles."

Erik said, "Just for future reference, I'm the tall, good-looking blob with blond hair.  Rick's the short, ugly blob with brown hair."

Rick grinned.  "You're six feet tall.  I may be an inch shorter than that."

"Inch and a half," Erik said

 Bruce shrugged.  "I'm just saying that's probably Ken out there.  I'm going after him."

He walked away. Rick looked at Erik.  "Am I going off the tracks on this?"

Erik ran his hand over his short blond hair.  "Don't know.  Whoever it is doesn't move like Ken.  Actually, they don't move like anybody I know.  Sure that was blood you found?"

"No."

They caught up with Bruce.  He stopped, breathing hard.  "Heat's getting to me.  Need to lose weight."

Erik said, "Well you eat like you're still playing football.  Bound to catch up with you."

Rick said, "It'll catch up with Weasel Boy too when he gives up the semi-pro football stuff and gets a real job."

This part of the Davis farm was overgrown with weeds and scrub trees because it flooded too often to be cultivated.  A little river cut across one corner of the property.  It changed course almost every year, leaving the area dotted with sloughs and ponds.

Ken, or whoever they were following, abruptly changed course.  Rick looked over at Erik.  "Heading straight into the river bend."

"Spread out and we'll have him."  Erik paused.  "Or her—or it."

Rick angled toward the river.  As he walked, tiny frogs hopped out of his way.  Mosquitoes buzzed past his face.  Mud stuck to his boot, and made them heavy.  In spite of the night vision goggles he lost track of the figure ahead of him.   He reached the edge of a treeless area along the river and saw the green outline of someone waist deep in the water.  He moved into the open and yelled, "Bad idea.  River has lots of holes and tricky currents.  Good place to drown."

Rick took off his night goggles and turned on his flashlight.  Erik and Bruce followed suit.   Rick said, "Told you it was a woman."  The woman wore only a larger than life-sized tattoo of a wolf head above her waist.   She had bright red hair, long in the back and shaved on the side. 

The woman raised a sharpened stick threateningly and said something incomprehensible.  She moved further from the bank, slipped, and dropped the stick as she regained her balance.

Rick moved his flashlight so only the periphery of the beam was on the woman.  "Get your lights out of her eyes."

The woman moved further into the river.  Only her head and shoulders remained above water.  Rick yelled, "We won't hurt you.  Come back."

Erik said, "Put the paintball guns down.  They're scaring her."

That seemed to help.  The woman paused and looked back at them, took another step, then paused again.  Rick said, "It's okay.  We're just playing paintball."

The woman moved a tentative step toward them.  Rick suddenly felt the stinging impact of a paintball on his back.  He turned and saw Ken List running toward them, firing paintballs as quickly as his gun would fire.

"Stop it!  You'll scare her," Rick yelled.  He turned back toward the river just as the woman lost her balance and went under.  Rick put down his goggles and took off his shirt.  One of woman's hands broke the water several yards downstream from where she had gone under.  The hand grasped frantically at air, then disappeared.

Ken ran up.  "Who's that?  What's going on?"

"Woman.  She's drowning."

Ken tossed his paintball gun and night vision goggles onto the bank and waded into the river.  Rick and Erik waded in after him.  Rick stepped into deep water and started swimming, hampered by his remaining clothes.  He got his head above water and tried to orient himself.  The light from Bruce's flashlight pointed him to where the woman had last surfaced.

Rick swam toward the light and did a surface dive.  When he came up he grabbed a quick breath and said, "There's a nasty undertow here."

Ken's head broke the surface several yards downstream.  "No luck."

The moon came back out as Rick treaded water.  He saw a hint of motion out of the corner of his eye, focused on it, and saw the woman's head break the surface about ten yards downstream.  "Over there."

Ken got to the woman first.  She latched onto his head, pulling him under.  Rick reached the two of them and grabbed the woman from behind.  He felt the impact through her as Ken hit her hard to break her grip.  The woman went limp, but Rick felt the impact of another blow. 

 "That's enough," he told Ken.  Rick barely got those words out before another punch snapped the woman's head back against his forehead.  "Would you stop already?  She's out."

Erik swam over and they towed the woman ashore.  They stumbled onto the bank and lay there exhausted.  Bruce ran up.  "Is she okay?"

Rick glared at Ken.  "You didn't have to hit her the last two times.  She was out after the first one."

"She had me by the throat!  I just hit her until she let go."

Rick shook his head.  "We'll worry about that later.  Erik, you know First Aid.  Do what you can.  Ken, you've got the cell phones.  Call 911.   Bruce, cut two poles seven feet long.  We'll rig up a stretcher and get her to the house.  Keep your eyes open.  She was running from something even before she saw us."

Ken shook his head.  "Cell phones went into the river with me.  They aren't waterproof.  We're on our own until we get back to the farmhouse."

Erik said, "And I don't have a land line there."

Rick walked over to Erik and the woman.  "How is she?"

Erik looked up.  "She has a deep cut on her leg, but the bleeding's stopped.  She's breathing, but she's really out.  How hard did he hit her?"

"Way too hard.  I'll have a bruise on my forehead where her head bounced off mine the last time he hit her."

Ken walked up.  "She had me by the throat. I had to get her off of me.  You would have done the same thing."

Rick stood up and faced him.  "The first time maybe.  The other two, no.   And I wouldn't have enjoyed it."

Bruce came back with two long sticks.  "What do you want to do with these?"

Rick took a deep breath. "Use our shirts to make a stretcher and hope they don't tear.  It felt like she weighed a ton when we dragged her out."

Ken picked up a flashlight and walked over to the mystery woman.  He felt her pulse, forced open an eyelid, then stood up and swore.  "No!  Not now!  Not tonight!  I'm not going to be trapped here in Loserbury!"

Rick looked over at him.  "What are you talking about?  Help us carry her."

"You don't understand.  She's not just unconscious.  She's hurt bad."

"So let's get her to a doctor."

Ken swore again.  "You don't get it.  If she dies I get voluntary manslaughter.  If she's brain damaged her parents sue me and their hands are in my pocket the rest of my life.  Either way, there goes my last chance to get out of Applebury and into the NFL.    I say we put her back into the river.  If someone finds the body she hit her head and drowned.  Nothing to do with us."

"You're nuts!  That would be murder.  What kind of lowlife would even think of doing that?"  Rick looked at Bruce.  "I told you he was a weasel."

    "No.  I've just been through the court system.  I know how it works.   You three could get involuntary manslaughter for chasing her into the river.  Look, let me think.  If we aren't careful we all can kiss the rest of our twenty-something years goodbye.  I'm not going to do that for some hopped-up bimbo we found running around half-naked in someone else's woods."

Rick shook his head and kept working on the stretcher.  "Dumping her would be stupid even if we were that kind of people.  She came from somewhere.  This could be a college initiation. She could have friends waiting to pick her up.  Erik, was she carrying any identification?"

"No.  She's wearing a skirt made out of animal hide—deerskin I think.  She has a pouch of dried meat around her waist.  That's it."

"Sounds like a survival exercise—which means people know she's here."  Rick knotted a shirtsleeve around a pole and tested the knot.  "That should do it.  Let's get her to a doctor."

Ken shook his head.  "I can't be involved in this.  Okay.  Forget putting her back in the river.  Bad idea.  Let's just get someplace and call 911.  Leave an anonymous tip."

Rick said, "You're involved.  Sheriff would take one look at this scene and know something's wrong.  I won't lie for you.  Let's get her to the house."

Ken shook his head. "Didn't you even hear what I said?"

Erik looked up.  "Yeah, we heard you.  After tonight I don't want to ever see you on my farm again."

*****

Char risked opening her eyes a slit.  She hoped that she hadn't stirred or given some sign of regaining consciousness.  She could see three of her enemies.  None of them showed the alertness that would have come if she had moved.  They all moved quickly around her, removing wet skins and putting on dry ones.  They hadn't tied her hands or feet yet.  Her enemies would pay for that bit of carelessness..  

Char studied her enemies through her almost closed eye-lids.  The three she could see would all have towered over the tallest men of the Real People.  One was both tall and grotesquely fat.  His brown hair was thin in front, as if from some disease.  His eyes were a shocking blue.  The other two enemies were slightly more ordinary looking, though one of them had yellow hair and stood at least a foot taller than Char.  The other one wasn't much shorter, though his eyes and hair were a more normal brown.  Something about the way the brown-haired enemy moved drew Char's attention.  Danger there, more than from the others.

Char shifted her attention to the rest of her surroundings.  She was in some kind of hut, but the walls seemed much too smooth.  She felt something impossibly soft and smooth beneath her.  A miniature sun glowed not more than a tall man's height above her.  It seemed to hang from the roof of the hut.  In a corner she could see an incredibly realistic painting of a man and a woman.  In spite of its detail, the painting failed to capture the essence of the man and the woman. It has no power.

This part of the—she forced herself to think dream world-- felt even more baffling and dangerous than the nearly empty forest.  Char pushed the pain in her head and leg out of her mind and tried to figure out this strange, too smooth hut and the things in it.  She heard footsteps from a part of the room she couldn't see.

The fourth enemy came within Char's view.  He carried an odd-looking club with a handle attached to a round, heavy object with a front as transparent as the clearest water and a wide as Char's hand.  He held the club no more than a hand's width away from Char's face.  Char weighed her chances.  If this fourth enemy raised his club she could bring her knee up into his groin, grab the club and use it to kill the most dangerous of her enemies before he reacted.  That would leave two enemies able to fight, but if she beat them then what?  Where was she?  What would she find outside the strange hut?  That question kept Char motionless on the bed.  Have to know more.  As she thought that, the smooth face of the club suddenly lit up with the light of tens of suns.  It took all of Char's willpower not to move or cry out in the face of the incredible thing, but she didn't.

 *** 

Ken tossed the flashlight down on the bed beside the woman.  "Thought she was playing possum.  I guess I was wrong.  If a million candlepower flashlight won't make her twitch, she isn't awake.  That thing's like a car headlight. "

Rick looked around the upstairs bedroom of the Davis farmhouse.  "Wound on her leg's bleeding again.  If she had been awake, you would have blinded her."

"Not permanently."  Ken picked up the light again, looked at the front and said, "It's got one of those glow-in-dark rings so you can find it in the dark."

            "Flashlight's for emergencies.  Leave it alone," Erik said.  "Why are you still here?"

            "Sheriff will want to talk to me too, since you aren't going to leave me out of this," Ken said.  "One of the questions will be why you carried her to an upstairs bedroom.  I don't have an answer for that one.  Do you?"

Rick put on a pair of clean socks and brushed his short brown hair down with his fingers.  "Why not bring her up here?"

"Because it was stupid," Ken said.  "Dying girl.  Bedroom.  Four guys.  You do the math.  Plus you carried her up the stairs--hurt, bleeding.   They may claim you hurt her on the way up.   We need to get her downstairs and get rid of the sheets." 

Rick brushed past him and lifted a corner of the sheet.  "Blood soaked through to the mattress.  Moving her now would be even more suspicious.  Better a bedroom than back in the river." 

Ken tossed the light back on the bed.  "Know why I said what I did by the river?" 

"Because you're a sociopath," Rick said.  "Always have been.  You're the most selfish human being I've ever met. You were that way in grade school.  You were that way in high school.  Erik should never have let Bruce talk him into inviting you up here."

Ken looked down at the woman on the bed.  "I saw her laying there hurt, maybe brain-damaged, and I knew the last five years of my life were down the tubes.  I've worked hard at football.  Do you know how much semi-pro ball pays?"

Rick said, "I don't care."

"About as much as flipping burgers.  It's only worth doing if the NFL spots you.  They scouted me last season.  I get within a mile of dead girl and they're gone for good.  So is my last chance to get out of Applebury and have a life." 

"So you wanted to let her die so you could play football," Rick said.  "That pretty much nails the sociopath bit."

Ken shook his head. "I wouldn't have put her back.  Yeah, I thought about it, but I wouldn't have done it." 

Rick brushed a strand of hair out of the woman's eyes and put the back of his hand against her forehead.  "Don't die on us!"  He looked at Erik.  "No fever.   Can you tell how bad she's hurt?"

Erik shook his head.  "She isn't reacting like the first aid books say she should.  Wonder what happened to her leg.  Looks like a stab wound, but not clean like a knife."

"Told you it was blood back there."

Bruce said, "Cut's too low for the blood to get on your arm.  That was sap."

"Maybe."  Rick shrugged and said to Erik, "I'll drive to your neighbor's and call for help.  Ken, I expect her to be here when I get back."

"If she dies, my lawyer will be here too," Ken said.  "You were beside me in the river.  She had me by the throat.  I couldn't breathe.  What was I supposed to do?  She was panicking.  Strong.  Could have killed me.  So I hit her."

"Three times.  I won't tell it worse than it was, but I won't lie for you."

Rick walked out to the hall.  Erik followed him.  Rick said, "He's not totally wrong.  She's strong and she was panicked.  The first punch knocked her out though.  Got a camera?"

"Maybe.  Why?"

"Get pictures of our mystery woman without Weasel Boy noticing, so he won't get away with murder if he does put her back in the river."

Erik nodded.  "I'll try.  He did help save her."

"Yeah, when it didn't cost him anything.  When it starting costing it was 'put her in the river'." Rick shrugged. "That surprised me, but it shouldn't have.  Be careful while I'm gone."

"I will.  Drive.  We'll be okay here."

The drive to the next farm took less than five minutes, but it seemed like an hour.  A Rottweiler stood near the house barking as Rick drove up.  A porch light came on as he got closer.  A man yelled, "What do you need?"

 "Call the sheriff and get an ambulance out to the Davis farm."

***

Back at the farmhouse, Erik looked at the woman.  "Her leg's bleeding again.  We need to get that stopped."

Ken shook his head.  "You have no idea what you're in for.  Court system's going to chew you up.  I know."

Erik said, "Saving someone's life isn't like doing drugs or beating your wife."

"The drugs were a long time ago, and I paid the price.  I would be a pro running back now if I hadn't screwed up.  Never beat my ex-wife, not that it's your business."

Erik shrugged.  He took the woman's pulse.  "It's normal."

Ken looked down at the woman.  "She's not ugly but there's no buzz from her."

"What?"

"She's almost naked but there's no vibe."

Erik said, "Maybe because she hurt and this isn't the time to be a horndog."

"I'm always a horndog, but there's nothing there.  Weird."

"Pathetic," Erik said. He looked at Bruce. "I'll find bandages.  Watch her and yell if anything changes."

He went down to the kitchen and looked for a first aid kit.  A movement at the window startled him until he recognized an old gray farm cat.  The cat yawned, then perked up its ears, looked in the window, and jumped down into the darkness.  Erik looked out the window but didn't see anything unusual. "Is everything okay up there?"

Nobody answered.  Erik yelled again.  No answer.  He got a butcher knife out of a kitchen drawer, went to the foot of the stairs and yelled again.

The silence stretched.  Erik heard a floorboard creak.  The light at the head of the stairs shattered, leaving the upstairs entirely dark.  "Bruce, Ken, what's going on?"

The farmhouse went silent for several seconds.  Erik heard a rustling sound in the upstairs hallway.  He reached for his flashlight and realized it was still upstairs.

Erik started up the stairs, uncomfortably aware of the noise his boots made.  He paused partway up and looked around in the darkness.  "Bruce!  Ken!  What's going on?"

He heard a thud from the bedroom.  The light from the big flashlight hit him in the face, blinding him.  He heard the compressed air 'pffft' of a paintball gun, and the paintball hit him in the chest.  "Oww."

The light focused on his chest, then went dark.  He heard someone running toward him, and saw the glow-in-the-dark circle of the flashlight swinging toward his head.  He got his knife hand up to partially block it.  The impact knocked the knife out of his hand, and the light crashed into his head.  He staggered, lost his balance, and fell down the stairs.  One of his flailing arms knocked the flashlight out of his assailant's hand and it bumped down the stairs behind him.  His head slammed painfully onto to the floor at the foot of the stairs.

The flashlight landed on Erik's stomach.  He grabbed it and flashed it up the stairs.  He caught a glimpse of someone running past the stairs, carrying something bulky.  He tried to get up, fighting dizziness and nausea, but sagged to the floor gasping for breath.  He heard someone upstairs fumbling with the balcony door, rattling it.  Finally he heard the door open and close.

Erik got up and staggered to a window.   He thought he saw somebody jump down from the balcony and run through the yard without breaking stride.  The dizziness overtook Erik and he slumped by the window, fading in and out of consciousness.  He yelled weakly, "Bruce!  Ken!  Are you up there?"

There was still no answer.  He must have faded out of consciousness.  When he woke, Ken was looking down at him.

"What happened?"

Ken said, "You'll need a good lawyer, one that can handle murder."

"What happened?  Where's Bruce?"

Ken shook his head.  "I'm not saying another word until I talk to a lawyer.  If you're smart you won't either."