David Morrell - Rambo 1 - First Blood Page 11

  'Wait now,' Lester said. 'You mean this one might get vicious?'

  'Maybe. I doubt it. Most likely she'll try to break free and run off. Just hold tight.'

  'I don't like this one bit.'

  'Nobody asked you to like it.'

  He left Lester holding the leash and walked over to the wounded dog. It was on its side, kicking its legs, trying to roll over and stand, always sinking back on its side, whining miserably.

  'Sure,' Orval said. 'Gut shot. That bastard gutshot her.'

  He wiped his sleeve across his mouth and squinted over at the dog that was untouched. It was tugging on its leash to get away from Lester.

  'Mind you hang on tight to that one,' Orval told him. 'I have something to do that'll make her jump.'

  He bent down to inspect the wound in the dog's stomach, came up shaking his head disgustedly at the glistening rolls of intestine, and without a pause he shot the dog behind the ear. 'A God damn terrible shame,' he muttered, watching the body contort spastically and then settle. His face had changed from gray to red, wrinkled worse than ever. 'So what's to wait for?' he said quietly to Teasle. 'Let's go butcher that kid.'

  He took one step away from the dog and staggered violently off balance, dropping his rifle, clutching queerly at his spine, the report from the gun in the woods below echoing as he whipped forward and hit the ground hard with his face and chest. The shock of landing split his glasses apart on his nose. And this time nobody returned fire. 'Down!' Teasle was shouting. 'Everybody down!' They dove flat on the ground. The last dog broke free from Lester and bounded over to where Orval lay, and it flipped around shot too. And pressed low in the furrow, fists clenched, Teasle was vowing to track the kid forever, grab him, mutilate him. He would never let up. No more because of Galt, because he could not let somebody who had killed one of his men get away. Personal now. For himself. Father, foster father. Both shot. The insane anger of when his real father had been killed, wanting to strangle the kid until his throat was crushed, his eyes popping. You bastard. You fucking sonofabitch. It was only as he went through in his mind how to climb off this cliff and get his hands on the kid that he suddenly understood how big a mistake he had made. He had not been chasing the kid. It was the other way around. He had been letting the kid lead them into an ambush.

  And Jesus what an ambush. With the nearest town thirty miles over hard country, with the helicopter crashed and the dogs dead, the kid could pick everybody off whenever he felt like it. Because the land didn't go straight back behind them. Because eight feet back from the edge of the cliff the land sloped up. To pull back they would have to run uphill in open sight while the kid blasted away at them from the woods below, and where in hell did he get his rifle and how in hell did he know enough to work an ambush like this.

  That moment, where the clouds were looming black in the sky, it thundered loud.

  9

  Orval. Teasle couldn't stop looking at him. The old man was spread out quietly on his face by the edge of the cliff, and Teasle could hardly breathe. Because of me. Just this once in his life he got careless, and I didn't warn him to stay down. He began crawling toward him, to cradle him.

  'The kid'll swing around,' Lester said hoarsely.

  Too hoarsely, Teasle thought. Reluctant he turned, worried about his men. They were only seven now, tight-faced, fingering their rifles, looking next to useless. All except Shingleton.

  'I'm telling you the kid will swing around,' Lester said. The knee was ripped out of his pants. 'He'll swing up there behind us.'

  The men jerked to stare up the rise behind them as if they expected the kid to be there already.

  'He's going to come all right,' the young deputy said. There was a brown liquid stain seeping through the seat of his gray pants, and the men had shifted away from him. 'Dear God, I want out of here. Get me out of here.'

  'Go on then,' Teasle said. 'Run up the slope. See how far you get before he shoots you.'

  The deputy swallowed.

  'What are you waiting for?' Teasle said. 'Go on. Run up the slope.'

  'No,' the deputy said. 'I won't.'

  'Then stop it.'

  'But we have to get up there,' Lester said. 'Before he beats us to it. If we wait too long, he'll make it up there and we'll never get off this ledge.'

  The dark clouds hulking closer lit up with lightning. It thundered again, long and loud.

  'What's that? I heard something,' Lester said. His knee was scraped red where it showed through the rip in his pants.

  'The thunder,' Shingleton said. 'It's playing tricks.'

  'No. I heard it too,' Mitch said.

  'Listen.'

  'The kid.'

  It was like weak vomiting, like a man choking. Orval. He was starting to move, hunched up, knees and head keeping his stomach off the ground while he clutched his chest, holding himself together. He looked like a caterpillar raising its back for traction to inch forward. But he wasn't going anywhere. Back arched high, he stiffened and collapsed. There was blood dripping from his arms and he was drooling, coughing blood.

  Teasle was stopped in disbelief. He had been sure Orval was dead. 'Orval,' he said. And then he was hurrying before he knew it. 'Stay down,' he had to remind himself, pressing low to the rocks, trying not to make himself the target Orval had. But Orval was too close to the edge, Teasle was sure he would be seen from the woods below. He took hold of Orval's shoulder and struggled to drag him back to the furrow. But Orval was too heavy, it was taking too long, any second the kid might shoot. He tugged at Orval and pulled and dragged, and slowly Orval moved. But not quick enough. The stones were too jagged. Orval's clothes were catching on the sharp rocks near the edge of the cliff.

  'Help me,' Teasle shouted to the men behind him.

  Orval coughed more blood.

  'Somebody help me! Give me a hand!'

  And then in a rush somebody was beside him, helping him, both dragging Orval back from the edge, and all at once they were safe. Teasle let out his breath in a gasp. He wiped sweat from his eyes and didn't need to look to see who'd helped him: Shingleton.

  And Shingleton was grinning, laughing, not loud, not hilarious, but laughing just the same. It was mostly all inside him. His chest was heaving and he was laughing. 'We made it. He didn't shoot, we made it.'

  And sure it was funny, and Teasle started laughing too. Then Orval coughed more blood and Teasle saw the pain on Orval's face and nothing seemed funny after that.

  He reached to unbutton Orval's bloody shirt.

  'Take it easy, Orval. We'll have a look and fix you up.'

  He tried to open the shirt gently but the blood had stuck the cloth to the flesh, and finally he had to tug at the shirt to free it and Orval groaned.

  The wound was not something Teasle wanted to look at very long. There was a rank gas coming out the open chest.

  'How. bad?' Orval said, wincing.

  'Don't you worry about it,' Teasle said. 'We'll fix you up.' He was unbuttoning his own shirt as he spoke, slipping it off his shoulders.

  'I asked you. how bad.' Each word was a distinct pained whisper.

  'You've seen enough things wounded, Orval. You know how bad it is as much as I do.' He was rolling his sweaty shirt into a ball, setting it on the hole in Orval's chest. Immediately the shirt was soaking blood.

  'I want to hear you tell me. I asked you -'

  'All right, Orval, save your strength. Don't talk.' His hands were sticky with blood as he buttoned Orval's shirt over the bundle he had put on the wound. 'I won't lie to you and I know you don't want me to lie. There's a lot of blood and hard to see for sure but it's my guess he hit a lung.'

  'Oh my Jesus.'

  'Now I want you to stop talking and save your strength.'

  'Please. You can't leave me. Don't leave me.'

  'That's the last thing you have to worry about. We're taking you back, and we're going to do everything we can for you. But you have to do something for me too. You hear? You have to concentrate on h
olding your chest. I have my shirt inside yours and I want you to hold it close to where you're hit. We have to stop the bleeding. Can you hear me? Do you understand?'

  Orval licked his lips and nodded weakly, and Teasle's mouth tasted full of dry dust. There wasn't a hope that a rolled-up shirt would stop the bleeding from a wound that size. His mouth stayed dusty and he felt streaks of sweat trickle down his bare back. The sun was long gone behind the clouds, but the heat was continuing to press on him, and he thought of water, realizing how thirsty Orval must be.

  He knew he shouldn't give him any. He knew that from Korea. A man shot in the chest or stomach would vomit water he drank, and the wound would rip larger, and the pain would get worse. But Orval was licking at his lips, licking at his lips, and Teasle couldn't bear to watch his pain. I'll give him a little. A little won't hurt.

  There was a canteen snapped to Orval's belt. He worked it loose, the canvas cover rough, and unscrewed the cap, pouring a. little into Orval's mouth. Orval coughed, and the water bubbled out mixed with blood.

  'Dear God,' Teasle said. For a moment his mind was blank: he didn't know what to do next. Then he thought of the radio and swung over to it. 'Teasle calling state police. State police. Emergency.' He raised his voice. 'Emergency.'

  The radio crackled with static from the clouds.

  'Teasle calling state police. Emergency!'

  He had been determined not to radio for help no matter what happened. Even when he saw the crashed and burning helicopter, he had not called. But Orval. Orval was going to die.

  'State police come in.'

  The radio shrieked with lightning, and in the ebb a voice came through, indistinct and raspy. 'State. here. ble.'

  Teasle couldn't waste time asking him to say it again. 'I can't hear you,' he said hurriedly. 'Our helicopter has crashed. I have a wounded man here. I need another helicopter for him.'

  '. done.'

  'I can't hear you. I need another helicopter.'

  '. impossible. An electric storm moving in. Every. grounded.'

  'But dammit he's going to die!'

  The voice answered something, but Teasle couldn't make it out, and then the voice dissolved in static and when it came back it was in the middle of a sentence.

  'I can't hear you!' Teasle shouted.

  '. sure picked. guy to try and hunt. Green Beret. Medal of Honor.'

  'What? Say that again.'

  'Green Beret?' Lester said.

  The voice was starting to repeat, broke up, never came back again. It started to rain, light drops speckling the dust and dirt, spotting Teasle's pants and soaking in, pelting cool on his bare back. The black clouds shadowed over. Lightning crackled and lit up the cliff like a spotlight, and as fast as the spotlight came on, it went off and the shadows returned, bringing with them shockwaves of exploding thunder.

  'Medal of Honor?' Lester said to Teasle. 'Is that what you brought us after? A war hero? A fucking Green Beret?'

  'He didn't shoot!' Mitch said.

  Teasle looked sharply at him, afraid he was out of control. But Mitch wasn't. He was excited, trying to tell them something, and Teasle knew what it was: he had already thought of it and decided it was no good.

  'When you dragged Orval back,' Mitch was saying, 'he didn't shoot. He isn't down there anymore. He's swinging around behind us and now's our chance to move!'

  'No,' Teasle told him, rain pelting his face.

  'But we've got a chance to.'

  'No. He might be swinging around, but what if he isn't. What if he doesn't want just one target, and he's waiting down there for the whole lot of us to get careless and show ourselves.'

  Their faces went ashen. The clouds unloaded and the rain came down for real.

  10

  It came and it came. Lashing at them solidly. Teasle had never been in anything like it. The wind was whipping the rain at his eyes, driving it into his mouth.

  'Storm, my ass. It's a goddamn cloudburst.'

  He was lying in the water. He didn't think it could get worse, and then the rain increased, and he was almost buried in the water. Lightning cracked bright like the sun, darkness instantly was everywhere, darkness that got blacker and blacker until it was like night, only the time was late afternoon, and rain lashing blind at his eyes, Teasle couldn't even see to the edge of the cliff. Thunder shook him. 'What is this?'

  He shielded his eyes. Orval was lying face up, mouth open in the rain. He'll drown, Teasle thought. His mouth'll fill up with water and he'll breathe it in and drown.

  He squinted at his men stretched out in the water on the ledge, and realized that Orval wasn't the only one who might drown. Where they all lay was now the bed of a raging stream. There was swift water rushing down the rise behind them, surging over them, sweeping toward the edge of the cliff, and though he couldn't see the ledge, he knew what it looked like. It was the top of a waterfall: if the storm got any worse, they'd all be washed over the side.

  And Orval would be the first to go.

  He grabbed Orval's legs. 'Shingleton! Help me!' he called, rain driving into his mouth.

  Through his words it thundered loud.

  'Grab his arms, Shingleton! We're clearing out!' The temperature had gone down rapidly. The rain was now shocking cold on his bare back as he remembered stories about men caught in flash floods in the mountains, about men washed down draws and thrown over cliffs and crushed and broken on the rocks below. 'We have to clear out!'

  'But the kid!' somebody yelled.

  'He can't see us now! He can't see anything!'

  'But the kid might be waiting for us up there!'

  'We don't have time to worry about him! We have to get off this ledge before the storm gets worse! It'll sweep us over!'

  Lightning flashed brilliantly. He shook his head at what he saw. The men. Their faces. In the lightning and rain, their faces changed to white skulls. As suddenly as they came, the skulls were gone, and he was blinking in darkness and the thunder hit him like a string of mortar explosions.

  'I'm here!' Shingleton yelled, grabbing Orval's arms. 'I've got him. Let's go!'

  They heaved him out of the water, bearing toward the rise. The rain doubled, heavier, faster. It was streaking at them almost sideways, drenching them, pouring off them in a constant rush. Teasle slipped. He fell hard on his shoulder and dropped Orval into the swirling current. He struggled splashing to grab Orval, to keep Orval's head above water, then slipped again so his own head went under water and he breathed.

  He breathed. The water he sucked up his nose choked his nasal passages and spewed out the two small holes at the back of the roof of his mouth, wrenching them wide. He was wild, frantic, coughing, now up out of the water. Somebody had him. Shingleton was pulling him.

  'No! Orval! Grab Orval!'

  They couldn't find him.

  'He'll go over the side!'

  'Here!' somebody yelled. Teasle blinked rain out of his eyes, trying to see who it was yelling. 'Orval! I've got him!'

  The water rose to Teasle's knees. He waded, legs churning to where the man held Orval's head out of the water. 'The current had him!' the man said. It was Ward, and he was tugging at Orval, working to drag him toward the rise. 'He was drifting toward the cliff! He bumped me going past!'

  Then Shingleton was there, and they all lifted Orval from the water and staggered with him toward the slope. When they reached it, Teasle understood why the water was rising so fast. There was a trough in the hillside, and the streams on top were draining into it, flooding down upon them.

  'We have to move farther along!' Teasle said. 'We have to find an easier way up!'

  The wind shifted and the rain lanced at their faces from the left. As one, they stumbled toward the right, the wind helping them along. But where were the rest of the men,

  Teasle wanted to know. Were they already climbing the slope? Were they still on the ledge? Why in hell weren't they pitching in to move Orval?

  The water rose above his knees. He hoisted Orval
higher and they staggered on, and then the wind shifted again: it was no longer pushing them the way they wanted to go, it was shoving them back the way they had come, and they were straining into the full force of the wind and the rain. Shingleton had his arms around Orval's shoulders, Teasle had the legs, Ward was cradling the back and they slipped and stumbled through the rain until they came at last to where the rise seemed easiest. There was a flood gushing down this part of the slope too, but not as strong as back at the trough, and there were big rocks jutting up for handholds. If only he could see to the top, Teasle thought. If only he could be sure the rocks were like that right up to the top.