The Totem

"It's a uniform." The words were muffled by the wind.

"What kind?"

"A state policeman."

There was no way that the overweight man could see from where he was. He veered to the side to get around his companions. He climbed a slope of fir trees, looked down toward the men on the gametrail, and saw Parsons plus two members of the town council searching through blood-stained clothes.

"The shirt has a captain's insignia," the overweight man heard Parsons say. "This was Altick's."

"But what happened to him?"

"Do I have to draw you a diagram? This gametrail leads up to the mining camp. What do you think happened?"

Apprehensive, the wind-blown men flinched and raised their heads, directing their gaze toward the rockwall miles above them. Even that far away, it dominated.

The overweight man stared at it, wishing that he hadn't come here. This was wrong. The notion had been fine as long as he was in town, but up here, everything was strange and different. You're just a little scared is all, he told himself. Just keep your eyes on Parsons. He knows what he's doing.

All the same, he didn't understand why there were no policemen here. He'd heard about the trouble Slaughter was in, about Slaughter's holding back, not acting until it was almost too late. Even so, that didn't sound like Slaughter, and he wondered if the rumors were true. It could be that we shouldn't be here, he thought. But he knew that the group could not turn back now, that he'd be considered a coward if he went back on his own. He had to stay, to go with them, although he wished desperately that he had stayed in town.

Then he heard the helicopter. Peering up, he saw it roaring toward him. It was just above the trees. It must have used the gametrail as a line to follow, and it swooped up past him, Slaughter's grim face distinctive through the canopy. The helicopter's rotors added to the wind. The overweight man saw the chopper's belly and the landing struts. The other men stared up, frowning, pointing. Parsons stared up as well. The bloody clothes he held were contorted by the wind.

On the slope, the overweight man stepped higher, peering through an open space between the trees at where the helicopter roared past him, getting smaller, and he strained to catch a final look. He lost his balance. He slipped on the slick mountain grass, thrusting his arms out to grab a branch. But he missed the branch and rolled. When he hit, the slickness beneath him muffled his impact, and he felt the slickness soaking through his pants and shirt, and he gaped beneath him, seeing mashed lungs, bowels, liver, and kidneys. He screamed. But it wasn't just the guts that made him scream. It was also the bones, ribs and legs, arms and pelvis, shoulders, and most of all the skull, its lipless tongueless teeth bared smiling at him. Throat raw, shrieking, the overweight man tumbled down the slope.

SIX

In the helicopter, Slaughter pointed. "There they are." The men were bunched out on the gametrail, wearing red-checkered shirts and khaki hunting jackets, examining an object they had found. At first the trees obscured them. The men were small, then growing larger as the helicopter neared them. Then they must have heard the rotors, and they peered up, and Slaughter saw one man on a wooded slope above the group. The man was squinting up at him. The helicopter roared past, and as Slaughter looked back, he had lost them. He was glancing forward at the final rising sweep of ridges, disturbed by the rockwall looming miles ahead.

"Just as well we found them. We've got less than a quarter tank of fuel," Hammel said.

"Take her down. My business isn't on the escarpment. It's with Parsons."

"Well, I don't know where to land this thing."

They stared ahead. There wasn't any clearing. All they saw were wooded ridges stretching toward the mountains and the rockwall far above them.

"Look, there has to be a way for you to land. A few more minutes, and we'll be too far ahead of Parsons for me to walk back and reach him before sundown."

"There were open spaces behind them."

"Far behind. I still wouldn't be able to reach him before sunset."

"Well, I don't see a clearing, so you'd better sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride."

The wind tugged at them, buffeting.

"I don't think we'll have a chance to find a place to land. The wind will choose it for us."

"I don't understand."

But then he did. He saw the higher ridge of pine trees they were heading toward. He felt the helicopter jolt to one side, felt the snap of branches underneath him. 'Jesus, I don't think you've ever flown a helicopter until now." He braced himself as green obscured the sky. Metal scraped against wood. The helicopter tilted. Slaughter's head slammed back. Through the canopy, down among the trees, his stomach swooping, he saw granite rush toward him.

SEVEN

Slaughter crawled from the wreckage, stu

"More than likely!"

Hammel squirmed out on Slaughter's side. The far side was impassable, the helicopter wedged among boulders and shattered trees, the broken rotors adding to the chaos. Slaughter stood and slumped against the helicopter. He was dizzy. "We have to get these men out."

He leaned in, feeling off-balance until he realized that the helicopter had tilted when it hit the trees, falling head first, its tail in the air now. He wiped at his eyes to clear their double vision, reaching in for Lucas who was slumped above him, hanging from his seatbelt, dangling across the seat that Slaughter had been in. He had snapped ahead, then back, then forward again, and Lucas now was moaning.

"I smell gasoline," Hammel said.

"Hurry."

Slaughter unhitched the seatbelt and pulled at Lucas, bracing himself to take the weight, but even so he stumbled backward, nearly falling in the rocks and broken branches as he felt support behind him and Hammel clutched at Lucas.

"Have you got him?" Slaughter asked.

"He's mine. Go back for Dunlap."

Slaughter struggled back into the wreckage. Dunlap was slumped behind the pilot's seat, and Slaughter had to climb up to reach him. He stretched, his stomach hard against something, and gripped Dunlap's suit coat, tugging.

"Dunlap, can you hear me?"

Dunlap moaned.

"We have to get you out of here." Slaughter's chest was pressed so hard against the top part of the pilot's seat that he almost couldn't muster enough breath to talk. He tugged again. 'You hear me?" He gasped. "This thing's leaking fuel. We have to get you out of here."

Slaughter tugged again, and this time Dunlap moved a little.

"Good. That's good. You're going to make it," Slaughter told him. "Unhitch your seatbelt. Try to climb down toward me."

Dunlap peered groggily toward Slaughter, and his face was bloody. "What?"

"Unhitch your seatbelt. Let me grab you."

Dunlap nodded, but his eyes were stupid, and "he didn't move.

"You've got to-"

"Yes, I heard you. Can't you see I'm trying?" Dunlap murmured.

"Jesus, try harder. This thing's going to blow."

Dunlap nodded again. He blinked, fumbled to release his seatbelt, and tried to push himself toward Slaughter. Then Slaughter had him, tugging, and they both slid downward, tumbling low against the instrument panel on the upended helicopter. Slaughter felt Dunlap's weight upon him, gasping. "Dunlap, I can't breathe." Slaughter's voice was muffled by Dun-lap's chest against his face.

"I'll get him off you," Slaughter heard. He felt Hammel reaching in, and then the weight was off him.