Fear No Evil. John Davis Gordon

ma’am?’

      Mystified, he hacked the pig’s carcass into chunks as she directed, then stuffed the pieces into a sack, and carried it out to the car for her.

      She scrambled back into the driver’s seat, and began to study her new hiker’s map. It shook in her hand.

      It was a huge area—about a hundred square miles of wilderness. But there were several dirt roads up into it, crossing the Appalachian Trail at several points. There was even a picnic area slap in the middle, and a road that led to a mountain called Big Bald.

      She concentrated on the best way to get up there.

      About fifteen miles away, on the other side of the Appalachians, the helicopter was parked behind an old barn on an abandoned farm.

      Three men crouched on the grass, and they were also studying a large-scale surveyor’s map of the area.

      They were wearing camouflage fatigues and hunting boots. Each man held a top-quality, big-caliber rifle. Inside their helicopter were more rifles of different calibers, all with telescopic sights and silencers.

twelve

      An hour before sunset Davey reached Tumbling Creek.

      He watched the animals drink. Big Charlie was spreading out a collection of edible roots and berries and fungi.

      ‘If I could light a fire,’ he rumbled, ‘I could make a good stew.’

      ‘No fire.’

      He hated all the dirt roads through this part of the mountains. A posse could penetrate very deep, very quickly, by vehicle. He wanted to get out, across Sams Gap and into the mountains beyond. It was only seven miles away—three hours, if they stuck to the Appalachian Trail. There was no point in sidetracking—nobody could track them in the dark. By tomorrow morning somebody would have found some spoor, and realize where they were heading. By tomorrow morning the authorities would be organized. So the important thing tonight was speed. Get as far away as possible down the easiest trail

      Davey pressed his fingers to his eyes.

      Oh … if only they could have got to the Pigeon River in the trucks. Right on the edge of the Great Smokies …

      He slowly dragged his hands down his face.

      Well, they were only eighty, ninety miles from the Smokies. Less than five days, at twenty miles a day.

      He could keep the animals together for five days. Fifty, if he had to. He was not worried about that; what he was worried about were all the highways he had to lead them across.

      Sams Gap, seven miles ahead.

      Then Devils Fork, fifteen miles.

      Then Allen Gap.

      Then Hot Springs, on the French Broad River.

      Then the Interstate 40 and the Pigeon River. With the Great Smoky Mountains across it…

      The important things were to keep going as hard and as long as possible.

      And rest … just for an hour.

      He was hungry, but his hunger did not matter. What mattered was that the animals rest and eat. He ferreted in his knapsack and pulled out a bar of chocolate. He began to eat it distractedly.

      None of the animals was in condition for such hard work. Sam and Champ were both intent on the chocolate. He sighed and pulled out another bar and unwrapped it. Sam’s wolf eyes were agog with anticipation. Davey held the chocolate out to him.

      ‘Try,’ he said, ‘to at least taste it.’

      Sam grabbed the chocolate and in two gulps it had vanished. He thumped his tail once and looked hopefully at his master.

      Champ croaked and looked at him with big eyes, then held out both hands, cupped.

      ‘Chocolate,’ Davey advised him, ‘is not what chimpanzees like. Chimpanzees like grass, leaves, roots and similar.’

      He should not have done it, but he felt sorry for Champ. The little animal did not know whether he was a human being or a chimpanzee. In the circus ring he thought he was a chimp; with Davey he thought he was a person. In both situations, Champ had an inferiority complex because he was so small. Davey scratched the animal’s small head as it chewed the chocolate with relish.

      Sally was standing all by herself, in the mud, huffing. It only covered her big blunt toes. She had tried to lie down in it, and her flanks were black with mud.

       Oh why, for God’s sake, had he weakened?

      If he had known this was going to happen … He could not bear to think what was going to happen if she could not keep up. How could he leave her? It made him desperate just to think about it. …

      He heaved himself up, plodded into the mud and crouched beside her. Sally opened her eyes, startled.

      ‘How’re you, old lady?’

      Sally sighed.

      ‘I’m sorry, old Sally.’

      Sally wheezed long-sufferingly. ‘Let’s look at your feet.’ He tapped the back of her knee, lifted her hoof and peered in the bad light. It felt rough. But he knew hippos grazed over many miles in Africa, and they could run fast and far, lungs as tough as saddlebags for all their underwater work. But Sally was an old hippopotamus.

      ‘But when we get there, you’ll love it, Sally,’ he whispered. ‘There’re beautiful clean rivers for you and even a big lake, and all kinds of things to eat.’

      Old Sally groaned, listening to the soothing voice of the only friend she had ever had. Her eyes began to droop.

      ‘And it’s warm down there now. Sally. You’re going to have a lovely time this summer. It’s all going to be worth it.’

      He hugged her big fat neck.

      And when the winter came, and the rivers got freezing? He felt his throat thicken. Because when winter came, it would not matter. When winter came, old Sally would not be around anymore.

      ‘All right, Sally … Sleep, old lady.’

      He stood up, stiffly, and looked through the dappled light at the big cats. Mama was waiting for him, next to his knapsack. The circus cats were together on the opposite bank, staring at him, still waiting to be fed.

      ‘I’m sorry.’ There was nothing he could do about their food tonight; he had to put it out of his mind.

      But the elephants were all right, and the gorillas and the chimpanzees. The elephants were feeding now, huge gray shapes shuffling wearily, their trunks reaching up, curling round a bunch of leaves, then down to their cavernous mouths, then chomp, chomp, chomp. Old Jamba had assumed natural dominance over the young zoo bulls. When she moved on, they moved.

      He sat down again, next to Mama. He just wanted to collapse onto his back, but he had not yet finished rounding up his worries.

      Dear old Mama. He scratched the back of her head, and she arched her neck and back. Sometimes she gave an angry moan at the circus cats. ‘Come on, Mama, they’re all right.’ He nodded at Sultan, the circus tiger. ‘How do you like the look of him?’ he whispered. But Mama wasn’t having anything to do with Sultan.

      Davey’s heart went out to Sultan. The lions did not want to have anything to do with him either, although they worked with him. They barely tolerated him. He had to be caged apart because the lions would bully him and wouldn’t let him get anything to eat. Even in the ring they snarled at him. Old Sultan wanted to be part of the lions; they were the only family he had ever known. He even thought he was a lion. In the ring he had a hard time from Frank Hunt, too, because he was not the brightest tiger. Sultan performed with bloody-minded reluctance and only because he was terrified of the whip and the electric prodder and because he knew