The One Who Had Mercy
Synopsis: While tracking a herd of elk through dense fog, a bow hunter finds more than just big game when three men appear out of nowhere, shackled in straightjackets lying face down in the grass. After helping the only survivor, the hunter becomes the hunted and fights for both his life and the life of a delirious stranger.
Ray Landry rested his elbows on a low-hanging branch. His binoculars scanned the opposite side of the draw. Patches of early morning fog drifted through the pine trees and open meadows, hiding his quarry. He looked away, blinked a few times to moisten his eyes and then returned to his search.
He spoke softly to himself, “Come on, come on. I know you’re there, I can hear you.”
A high pitched cry rang through the mountains and was answered by echoes on the lower canyon walls. Elk bugles and chirps came from every direction in the forest and the fog. Ray kept his gaze on the clearing on the opposite side. He knew the big one was there.
Then he saw it.
A massive bull elk sauntered out of the fog with a majestic gait. With head held high and massive antlers raking its back, its breath plumed in the air. This was the true king of the forest.
But he had to get closer. Ray threw a pinch of dead pine needles in the air to double-check wind direction then gathered his bow, tied up his horse and circled around to the south downwind of the herd.
As he hiked, bugles continued from all sides like banshees haunting the forest. It fueled his adrenaline.
He saw the herd dispersed in and out of the trees. The large bull full of romance still stayed in the clearing and called to the cows.
Ray hid behind a thick growth of bog birch surrounding a dead tree stump. He merged with the foliage. The giant bull was within 100 feet, showing its broad side. Silently, Ray turned his cap backwards, attached an arrow to his bow, pulled it back and aimed at the heart. It would be a nice, clean kill.
The bull elk startled and turned, taking away the clean shot.
Ray slowly released the tension on the bow. Patience was critical. He’d wait for another opening.
The bull smelled the air and walked a few paces to the left, dipped its nose behind a mound that covered Ray’s view. It then suddenly grunted, lifted its head and pranced into the forest, leaving only a trail of lingering breath vapor standing in the cold air. The animals’ size belied their agility and speed. Like an army of phantoms, the whole herd elegantly gathered together and seemed to float into the trees with hardly a sound, vanishing.
Just like that. Gone.
Ray put his chin to his chest, leaned his head against his bow and took a deep breath. He stood up and walked to where the herd had been.
He stopped on the top of the mound. The sight both confused and frightened him. Three men lay prostrated on the ground – tied up in straightjackets – with their faces down in the frosty grass.
They didn’t move.
Ray didn’t think he’d see people here at all today. Much less three men in straightjackets. He approached the group.
The closest man’s face was beaten and bruised. He was on his stomach, his face was turned to the right and his mouth agape. Drool had pooled in an elk track. Ray placed his finger on the man’s neck. The skin was cold and dry. No pulse.
An icy dread climbed up Ray’s spine. He shivered, but not from the weather.
He turned to the next guy who looked like he had suffered a similar beating. Again, no pulse.
He walked over to the third man. His head was cleanly shaven. His lips blue from the cold, but they vibrated with labored breathing. He was still alive.
Ray shook him gently. “Hey, man, you OK? Can you hear me?”
The man moaned an undecipherable mutter.
A padlock sealed the back of the straightjacket where the sleeves came together, so Ray couldn’t just unlatch the thing. He pulled out his knife. It clicked as it opened. He placed the blade by the canvas loops that held the lock. Then he paused. Maybe there was a good reason these guys were straight-jacketed. He closed the knife and put it back in the sheath.
“Hey, hang in there. I’m going to get you some help, OK?
The man babbled incoherently again.
Ray leaned closer. “What are you saying?”
The man opened his eyes for the first time. A wild, glazed look from bloodshot green orbs stared at Ray. “They … they are coming. They are always coming.”
Ray’s skin jumped with gooseflesh. Then he brushed it off. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll be back with the horse. Get you some water.”
The brown quarter horse neighed as Ray approached. Ray untied the noose then scratched her on the ears and patted her neck. “Hey Jesse, have you been behaving here all by yourself?”
He could just leave now and pretend he never saw those men. He could just ride up the hill back to the cabin and have a nice meal, read a book and then come back out towards evening and find another herd of elk along the way and forget all about that creepy guy with those eyes. He could do that, sure. But at night when Ray would lie in bed and close his eyelids, he’d see the man’s stare. It would haunt him forever.
He placed his left foot in the stirrup and lifted himself onto Jesse’s back. He paused and looked down into the draw. He blew air out of his mouth and shook his head.
Jesse dug her hooves in the dirt as they reached the top of the mound overlooking the three men. Ray kicked her in the side. Stubbornly, the horse wouldn’t move.
“What is it Jess?”
The horse backed up and reared her head, snorting.
“Whoa! Easy girl.” Ray patted her neck and mane. He dismounted and took her by the lead rope and rubbed the bridge of her nose to calm her.
Under Ray’s lead, Jesse followed, but with hesitation. Whatever scared the elk off had obviously spooked the horse as well.
Crazy Eyes was still wheezing on the ground. Since Jesse was still skittish, Ray tied her up to a nearby tree then took a water bottle from a saddle bag and walked over and knelt above Crazy Eyes.
“Hey, you still with me, buddy?”
Ray rolled the man over onto his back. The man’s eyelids opened halfway, his mouth opened and closed.
“I’m going to give you some water, OK?”
The man nodded his head. Ray poured a small amount of water in his mouth and the man swallowed. “More,” the man pleaded. Ray poured more water. The man choked and coughed. His eyes opened wide. “Hurry, they’re coming!”
“Who? Who’s coming?”
The man shook his head. “They’re coming.”
“Yeah. You told me. Have some more water anyway.”
He poured and the man drank. Ray looked at the straightjacket. The man’s arms were in a permanent fold. The jacket hunched his shoulders awkwardly forward. Ray again thought about releasing him from the jacket, but paused.
“Can you walk?”
The man turned his head towards Ray and stared, then turned away again.
“I guess that’s a ‘no.’” Ray said. “But you’re gonna have to stand for a second.”
Ray reached down and picked the man up by the canvas shoulders of the straightjacket. The man was taller than he thought, but light, around 6-foot-2 and 150 pounds. The man tried to stand, his head seemed to dangle from his neck. Ray dragged him around to Jesse’s left side, brought his knees underneath the man for leverage and hefted him onto Jesse’s back behind the saddle and tied him down.
The horse turned her face around to the new cargo and chuffed.
“What?” Ray said to the horse. “Don’t give me that, Jess, he’s a lot lighter than the elk we would have been dragging out of here.”
A crack split the air and the tree limb above the horse exploded. Ray hunched over as wood splinters rained down.
“What the –” With a boom, the tree trunk blew apart again.
Jesse reared and broke her lead rope. Instinctively, Ray jumped, grabbed the horse’s neck and rolled onto the saddle as the horse bounded off over the mound and into the aspen trees. More gunfire popped and Jesse galloped, zigzagging in between aspens. Ray put his head down over Jesse’s neck and held on.
Crazy Eyes laughed. It was an eerie, sort of foretelling doom kind of laugh. Ray looked back and somehow his ropes held tight while the man bounced on Jesse’s hind quarters. He was tempted to kick him off and leave him alone in the woods.
The man stuttered when he spoke, gasping air in between words as he bounced. “I … told you … th-they … are co-coming!”
The gunfire ceased, but Jesse didn’t. She ran and Ray let her. She galloped as nature intended. Cold air whisked by Ray’s face, tearing his eyes.
Jesse slowed as they reached the top of the draw. The horse breathed heavy and started limping. Ray looked back at the favored leg and saw blood flowing down her left hind quarter.
She’d been shot.
Ray dismounted and walked around to the side and punched Crazy Eyes in the back. “You did this to us! Who are these people? Who are you?”
The man didn’t react to the punch. There was an odd pause before he responded. He spoke slow, deliberate. “It doesn’t matter. They will just keep coming.”
With Jesse hurt, they couldn’t outrun the enigmatic pursuers now. They’d have to outlast them.
Ray Landry rested his elbows on a low-hanging branch and watched the opposite side of the draw through his binoculars. Heavy fog hid his quarry, though this time he wasn’t looking for elk.
He listened to Jesse, trusting in her instincts and heightened senses. If anything came close, she would notice it first. He was hidden fairly well here, and this was the best vantage point to see what might be coming. His only concern was that they’d see the man in the straightjacket and Jesse.
He looked over at Crazy Eyes who was now tied to a tree. Ray thought it would have been better to leave the man at the bottom of the draw. But for some reason, he was still committed to saving that man.
The man moved. “Hey … you gonna just leave me here?” he grunted.
Ray looked back, stared pathetically, and then returned his gaze through his binoculars. “Yes. I am.”
“My shoulders feel like they’re ripping off. Get me out of this.”
He was suddenly talking lucid. But Ray needed him to stay quiet. “In a minute. Stay quiet. They’re out there.”
“They’re always out there,” Crazy Eyes said slowly. “They’re always coming. Always. That’s why you need to get me out of this thing.”
Ray thought about it. At least it might make him shut up. He was about to get up and walk back when Jesse snorted. Ray hunched down. The horse neighed and jumped.
“Hey, man, you gotta get me out of this!” the man whined.
Then he saw him, like a shadow moving in the dark. About 50 yards out, someone dressed in black walked quietly through the trees. The figure stopped, looked toward them and raised a rifle.
But Ray had already taken aim. The arrow cut through the fog with silent death. The figure jolted, groaned and doubled over onto the ground dropping the weapon without firing.
“Nice job, you got one!” Crazy Eyes said, drunkenly. “But it won’t matter.”
More shadows danced in the trees, back and forth in the fog, coming towards them.
Ray crawled over and approached the man in the straightjacket. “We’ve got to hurry,” he whispered. Ray took out his knife and cut off the canvas hooks and pulled the straightjacket off his back. He wouldn’t let this man be defenseless in the coming foray.
The man grimaced as he stretched his shoulders and flexed his hands as blood flow returned to his numb extremities.
Jesse snorted again and hopped, nervously.
Ray turned around and saw shadows moving less than 30 feet away. Ray ran to his cover spot, took aim again and released an arrow. It stuck in a tree next to one of them. The figure reached around looking at the arrow, then raised his right arm towards Ray. Something glimmered in his hand.
Ray ducked as a gunshot boomed. A bullet ripped through the brush.
Jesse shrieked and snorted, then bolted into the forest to freedom.
Ray stayed on his stomach, glued to the frosted leaves that covered the ground. He watched for movement beyond.
He heard Crazy Eyes shuffling over. Ray looked up.
The bald man stood above Ray with those wild red and green eyes. He smiled at Ray, baring white teeth that seemed to glow in the gray sky. He held something high in the air.
Ray recognized the rock as it dropped down on his head. He smelled pine needles and dirt as everything went dark.
Ray Landry wasn’t sure if it was the cold, the pain in his shoulders and head, or the elk bugling. Maybe it was a jumble of everything that woke him. He opened his eyes and stared at the first few stars of the evening. Dusk had fallen. The fog had cleared.
He tried to sit up. His arms wouldn’t move. His shoulders were hunched and his arms forced to fold around his chest. His body ached and his fingers tingled with numbness.
Ray looked down. The straightjacket now bound his body. He tried standing but his legs couldn’t move. A sharp pain around his ankles. Rope cut into his skin above his feet and attached to his back, bending his knees.
Ray writhed and squirmed. He yelled into the mountain night.
Nobody could hear his voice.
Ray Landry wasn’t going anywhere.
He rolled onto his left shoulder and rested his head against the dirt. When he closed his eyes, a vivid image of a bald man with bloodshot green eyes grinned and laughed.
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