Chapter 4

Dave Stewart hurried through the trees, unsure of his destination. His insides burned, and his breathing was irregular. Something was wrong with his eyes; everything was dark and fuzzy. Sweat poured off him, and he started to shiver. When he stopped to catch his breath, he discovered sores on his arms and legs that were oozing yellow fluid—a sob caught in his throat.

“I’m going to die out here,” he thought.

And in that quiet moment of grim thought, Dave Stewart heard running water. He turned toward the sound and started toward it.

After several minutes of fumbling and crawling, Dave came upon a small creek that flowed into a small pond. After staring at it briefly, his addled mind not immediately recognizing it, Dave slumped and fell face-first into the pond, sucking on the water to cool off. Dave pulled his head from the water and looked at his warped reflection in the pond. He couldn’t tell in the fading light but knew he looked terrible.

He screamed when a bullet impacted the tree next to him. He scrambled away on all fours and fell over into the pond.

“Christ, Jerry! You almost hit that guy!” a nasal voice shouted.

“Shut up, Steve! I thought it was a deer. Shit. Let’s check on ‘im.” Another gruff voice said.

Dave heard the trampling of leaves and branches, and two men appeared on the other side of the creek. They were both wearing camouflage hunting outfits that looked worn and soiled. One was a skinny, rat-faced man; the other was squat and stout.

Dave stared at them, terrified.

“You okay there, pal? We gave you quite a scare there, didn’t we?” the short one, Jerry, said.

“Awfully sorry about that!” Steve called over the water. “We got a couple of cases of beer you can help yourself—”

“Talking Lizard!” Dave shouted. “Three-eyed lizards! Stole my wife! Help me!”

Dave splashed through the shallow pond up to the bank where the two hunters stood. The two men stared at Dave, naked, filthy, red-eyed, babbling, and then at each other. They started to guffaw and howl with laughter.

“Got into some nasty stuff, huh?” Steve said, wiping tears from his eyes.

“That acid will rot your brain, kid!” Jerry laughed. “Come on, Steve, let’s not waste any more time on this dirty hippy.”

They turned away from Dave when he scrambled up the bank and threw his arms around Jerry’s legs. Dave looked up at the older man with wide, half-insane eyes. Dave wailed in despair.

“No! Don’t go. It’s out there! It will get you too. But you have guns! You can kill it and save my wife Jan—No, Dawn!”

Jerry used the butt of his weapon to strike the blubbering flower child in the head as gently as he could. Dave shouted in pain and grasped his head. He felt a trickle of blood start from his scalp and dribbled over his fingers as it throbbed horribly.

“Listen, asshole! You can follow us back to camp, where we can radio the park ranger to haul your ass to jail to ride out your trip. Or you can stay here and die of exposure. Which is it gonna be?” Jerry glared at Dave, who rocked back and forth, holding his head.

“Jerry,” Steve said. “I think there’s something wrong with him.”

“Yeah, he smoked too much marijuana or dropped acid or something. Look at him! He’s out of his mind!”

Dave whimpered and got to his feet. “I’ll follow you.”

“This is bullshit,” Jerry growled as they returned to their camp. “All I got on this trip was one undersized buck and some squirrels.”

“And one whacked-out hippy,” Steve snickered.

When the three entered camp, it was almost dusk. Jerry walked to his truck and pulled out his field radio while Steve put away their gear. Dave sat in a canvas chair and stared at nothing, not moving his mind a million miles away.