Shadows of the Desert, page 10
The gel poured forth with surprising force and was covering his head and body. It had the viscosity of chilled chocolate syrup, like the Hershey ‘s syrup Jason had used to make chocolate milk for his daughter. It was also very cold as it oozed into Jason’s armpits and over his neck. Shadow was pissing on Jason to save him for a fate of his own choosing.
“Ahhhh,” Shadow groaned, “when you gotta go, you gotta go.”
He shook off the head of his hideous prick and moved his cloaks back into place. Jason somehow found himself thankful Shadow had apparently not been, thus far, inclined to rape him.
“Now we need to get you off that hot ground.” Shadow said.
Jason cooperated, regardless of capability to the contrary, as Shadow rolled him over and lifted him like a child from the ground. He spit out some of the urine which had crept into his mouth. It had tasted like a sunflower seed gone bad, incredibly rancid and salty. The coolness of the gelatinous urine had cooled him down, though he could have thought of a plethora of methods by which he would have preferred to have been saved. He never felt so small and useless, with no power to prevent or strike back against the domination he was suffering at the hands of Shadow. Oddly, and beyond reason, he felt ashamed, as though he had failed and was simply weak. He wanted to hide but there was nowhere to go, and he did not have the energy left, anyway.
As Shadow carried Jason toward shade, confident in his superiority, he mulled over the simple notion he could have allowed Jason to die on the ground and gotten much satisfaction. He knew, however, there was much more to be squeezed out of the subject of his attention and he was learning the juice from his victim was well worth that squeeze. Often the patience to torment prey would taunt Shadow and he would have to fight the urge to rend a subject apart in a glorious orgy of blood and viscera. With Jason though, Shadow was finding great satisfaction in the game, his pleasure mounting. There was never really any telling when prey would be so satisfying but Jason was providing endless enjoyment. Perhaps it was his stubborn drive to endure and the internal conflict he grappled with, the walk between suffering and suicide. Whatever the case, the suffering was flat out delicious, and he would need to stay alive a little longer to suit the fancies of Shadow.
“Now we’ll get you back to some shade. Oh, and don’t worry, I’ll give back the knife just as soon as we get you feeling better.” Shadow told him.
Jason watched as he was carried back to where his backpack rested in the shade of the rocks.
“You know, your daughter Ashley, when she was hit by that truck? She did not die right away, you understand. It took a little while and she was mostly conscious, too. The truck ruptured all her guts like a water balloon, and she shit herself as she lay on the sidewalk, dying. She was marinating in her own shit, piss, blood and cherry soda when they picked her up. So much for having clean underwear on, huh?” Shadow sneered.
Jason glared into Shadow’s frighteningly clear eyes and began to shake with hate. If he would have been able to muster it, he would have attacked Shadow again. He was placed in the shade at the base of the rock and Shadow threw the knife in front of him and backed away a few feet. He paused as he sensed Jason had something he wanted to ask. Jason’s lips quivered and he had to steel himself to stay conscious, his vision blurring.
“What the hell do you want with me?” Jason demanded.
Shadow grinned and knelt to look at Jason.
“I want to watch you do what you came out here to do, Jason.” Shadow answered.
Jason gawked in confusion at his enemy; he did not know what the hell he was talking about. At least, he did not want to know and told himself he did not. The truth was, he knew exactly what the fiend wanted because he wanted it a little bit, himself.
“Oh, come now, there’s no need to be coy with me, little guy. Do you think I come running for every damn fool who gets lost out in the wild? I was able to smell you like a rotting carcass under a house. Think now, why did you really come out here? Don’t give me any shit about wanting to clear your head, either.” Shadow insisted.
Jason shook his head to indicate he did not understand, he refused to cooperate, refused to submit and confirm to his tormenter what they both knew. Shadow regarded him with a façade of condescending pity, in response.
“You poor, simple bastard. It is obvious you came out here to die, to kill yourself. You might want to argue that you did not bring your gun. You did, however, bring a knife and if all else fails you came to the desert. That alone, if you are reckless, can kill you quick as a bullet.” Shadow asserted.
Jason stared wide-eyed at Shadow and tried to refute what was being said. He was still trying to tell himself it was not true, that he would not have done it, but inside he knew better. He had already done it. The thing was right, he had come out to Picacho to die.
“You have the tool to carry it out, Jason. Bleeding to death is so much faster than the things killing you now. Trust me, it is rather a peaceful death, the pain of the cutting fades almost immediately. No one has earned it more than you have, so go ahead, do it. I will just be here to help usher you into the next world.” Shadow said.
Jason could not register what he was hearing anymore, he was too exhausted. He began to allow himself to fade into unconsciousness as Shadow stood over him once more and began pissing. Even with that going on, Jason was passing out.
“One more thing, little fella. As a little incentive to help you along, I’ve got some extra special treats for you tonight.” Shadow said.
Jason did not have time to worry about the foreboding nature of the statement as he slid into the black.
V
Shadow tended to the wound on his cheek, where Jason had spit on him. He managed to conceal his pain and the wound from Jason but was disturbed by the very fact he had been injured in the first place. This little man was proving to be a bit more tenacious than Shadow had anticipated. Other humans had surprised him before, and they had in general paid a quick and terminal price. There had been a child molester on the lamb from the law, in the forests of South Carolina, who had spotted this physical weakness in Shadow. The fugitive in South Carolina had been so wrought with guilt, Shadow had known suicide was inevitable. He had stalked his prey for two days but was burned when a tree limb, laden with dew, shook above and the fugitive had seen it happen. Shadow came to him a few hours later and was attacked with water from a canteen. His prey sought to become predator but found Shadow was not as helpless as previous victims. The water had been meant to burn Shadows face and eyes, but instincts honed over many hunts and perhaps centuries, (he did not really know or remember) allowed him the reaction time to cover up. Shadow suffered burns on his arms which had taken years to heal. He ripped the fugitive apart and left an area of spattered blood, guts and shattered bone in a twenty-foot radius.
It seemed that only water in its purest form was completely toxic to Shadow. Human blood, while mostly water, caused only minor irritation to his flesh. On a planet that is mostly water though, this weakness was a serious consideration and icy climates were primarily off limits. Mountains and tundra rather frequently would have provided him with victims but ice and water, much to his consternation, prohibited free hunting.
The earliest memories he could glean from this planet were in the desert. He had lived in other times and in other places (he thought), but the desert was his earliest recollection from earth. There were great expanses of desert all over the planet, on every continent it had hunted in them and knew them implicitly. There was no better setting for tormenting and stalking prey. Over the centuries (centuries?) the deserts played host to desperate measures, desperate men and oh yes, wars. He had participated in many wars fought in the sands of planet earth, many battles undocumented and long forgotten had fed him well. There was no risk associated for him in the desert. Never had he considered himself at true risk in the places he felt most at home, and none of the very few disappointments and defeats Shadow had suffered took place near a desert.
Shadow chewed on his memories, a bit. How long had he been alive? How old? He did not know. He was convinced he was not conceived of this miserable little planet, that he had come here from somewhere else. He did not know why he believed this; he had no memory of anywhere else, but he was convinced. There was more, though, it was not just about where he had come from. He was consumed with anger, an anger born of craving and desire. He simply knew he had to get somewhere, but where? When and how? He had no answers. He would simply feed and grow stronger, believing in time, answers would be revealed. This was his belief and had been for decades. He would often try and remember something he could not define and always told himself it would come in time and he would get a flash, a glimpse, more of a feeling and then, it was gone. Wherever he had been, whatever in fact he was, stood just outside of reach and it was maddening. He made home in the deserts, shifting between them in what seemed like seconds but sleeping for what could have been years. Rarely would he leave the deserts. The desert was home.
Being at home though anywhere on planet earth had always been a conundrum for Shadow. Taking on a physical form was exhausting and could only be accomplished for brief periods, a full day at the most, in one stretch. If he tried to stay solid for too long, he knew the consequence would be death. Then there was the issue of what he called ‘the cosmic wind.’
A medicine man in Brazil who he had unsuccessfully attempted to stalk had this coming to his aid. Certain humans, though there had been only two, had been able to see it and had some force at their aid. They were each unique, in their own right, but the common thread was a warding presence which would press Shadow back from them. It was like a mighty wind which sucked away Shadows strength as it would pass over his body. Jason did not reflect this outside aid, but he did remind Shadow of its existence, for one reason or another. He did not know if this powerful intervention had something to do with the damp environments Shadow previously encountered it in or if there was something bigger that he could not immediately recognize. His sense was of something bigger, something he was familiar with but did not know exactly how. In any case and at most, it was merely unsettling Jason bore any resemblance to prior failures, which had been decades prior. He was in the desert now, in his home, where he was most comfortable, the possible negative considerations would be measured, but far from discouraging.
In the environment of the desert Jason was not armed with enough water to kill Shadow but he could cause serious injury, even with his limited resources. Shadow was not out there to fight and be hurt, he was out there to do the hurting and drive this man to suicide. The wound on his face would be visible to Jason and Shadow would have to take care. He hoped that he would not need to kill Jason prematurely, he was proving to be a great deal of fun. Nonetheless, Shadow planned to drop a trump card on Jason within a period of hours. He would wait for nightfall and get to Jason then. As for the moment, Shadow needed a little rest. He would commence the next round of assault on the resilient Jason as a refreshed and focused tormentor.
Lowell and Laura Wade were enthusiastic anglers. He would get flustered at the fact she was better at it than he was. She was also better at golf, bowling and video games. He would kick her butt at pool with regularity and was a better surfer.
They were an active, happy and competitive couple who had been married since they were both twenty-nine. In eight years of marriage, they both still found joy in testing one another in shared activities. She was better at fishing because she was more patient and was able to remain still and quiet, where Lowell tended to fidget. He would also move to different spots in their canoe or on the dock or wherever else they were fishing from; meanwhile she would grin and reel ‘em in. The only thing open to fierce debate between them was who was better on a motorcycle. They had both ridden since they were knee high to a grasshopper, and both loved it. He argued his natural strength and constitution as a male made him capable of managing maneuvers in a more precise and dramatic fashion. She argued that she had more finesse and intestinal fortitude to ride faster and pull off anything he could do, only better. He would then remind her whose money had paid for the bikes because he was the higher wage earner. She would then remind him not to be a dick. They shared a lot of laughs and good times together and when Lowell had learned she was pregnant he had worried their good times would wane. He was not sure how he would deal with the sacrifices undoubtedly incumbent to parenthood. He supposed they would just be forced to raise an active and athletically inclined child. She wanted a girl and he wanted a boy; they were placing wagers of sexual favors on it. There would be a little bit of time yet before they knew the sex of the child. Both were confident they would win the bet and therefore be receiving a great deal of oral gratification, erotic massages and so forth.
They were preparing their gear and their canoe for a trip out to Taylor Lake in Picacho. The fishing there was a bit dead but other than the mosquitoes it was supremely relaxing, as no one ever really camped at the swampy, little lake. The most they would typically contend with was the occasional Jet Ski which came into the river fed lake. Taylor Lake was flanked to the south by an enormous red cliff which jutted straight down, several hundred feet. It also had the remains of an old windmill protruding from the water near the eastern shore. The lake was not big enough for larger watercraft or even any real fooling around with a Jet Ski. It was the visual appeal and the solitude available which made it worthwhile. One could say the visual effect of Taylor Lake is supremely southwestern.
They planned to spend the weekend at the lake and just relax from their hectic jobs and personal schedules. Recreational indulgences such as working out at the gym, yoga, and kick boxing classes sometimes seemed to be more of a chore than a release. The only way to really escape sometimes was to get out of town all together. It was a little over four hours to Picacho from their home in Oceanside. The plan was to get an early start the next day rather than head out at night and try to set camp when the mosquitoes were most annoying. They quietly went about the routine of preparing individually as their competitive nature spilled over into chores and would cause power struggles and arguments. This trip was to be as any other except for Laura being pregnant. Some things, though, just do not go to plan.
Jan had completed her missing person’s report and had an APB out for Jason Augustine who was dressed plainly in a blue or white T-shirt. She had gotten word out to the Sheriff’s Departments on both the California and Arizona sides of the river; just in case. The Ranger’s and Deputies on the river would watch for him and if he were not found by daylight, the Imperial County Sheriff’s Department would put a bird in the air for a few hours. They would circle a few miles around where he had been seen and look for anybody wandering alone. It was always hit and miss with a search and rescue. The lost individual would be found right at the second you were not thinking about it. Most of the time Jan had to worry about nothing more than minor infractions in State Park property. The worst out in Picacho was the goddamn poachers; she hated them more than she had hated the drunks in Ocotillo. They came out for mule deer, doves and rattlers for the most part, there was not much else out there to kill. During dove hunting season the occasional hunter would accidentally wander onto park grounds. She was always alert for the sound of gunshots during this season and threw the book at anybody poaching on her watch. At night she watched for floodlights and would approach with shotgun ready, not every poacher was the docile sort to simply allow capture and she was always out-manned and out-gunned.
Now though, there was the worry of a man lost in the desert who was, no doubt, already suffering severely from exposure. It was growing dark and Jan elected to stay out late and continue looking. Picacho is full of coyotes, big spiders, the occasional bobcat, scorpions, and of course rattle snakes. Most of it is not deadly in and of itself but Jan had seen some wild things take place in the desert and once again there was human stupidity to be factored in. She would be vigilant and watchful until her wayward camper was located and transported to the medical care he would doubtlessly require. She sat, parked in her four-wheel drive truck atop a hill with a decent view, munching on pistachios and drinking bottled water. She was carrying extra water and made sure her first aid supplies were freshly stocked; in case she came upon the hapless Jason Augustine.
Jason had loved his daughter with no rival other than his wife. When his wife had died Ashley was all he had left, all he had cared about. Lynn had told him shortly after Ashley’s shoplifting incident that he needed to date again. She told him he was burying his head in the sand, that Ashley would grow up and no longer be his baby girl. She had also warned him there were potentially serious implications to her acting out with the shoplifting, that she could seriously rebel against him one day. Jason had not listened to her. He was still holding on to the memory of his wife and was not near a stage to allow his daughter to start slipping out of his life and into memory. There were things about his wife he remembered and held onto that would never be right and never change, Ashley was his closest link to that love and as far as he could see the only good thing he had ever created.
