Fatalis

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Hannah had watched anxiously as Grand approached the thicket, his pale yellow jacket a dim ghost in the darkness. He was the only place of calm in a world that seemed to be made of nitroglycerin. Hannah didn't know what moment, what action, what impulse might cause an explosion.

A part of Hannah-a very large part-wanted to go to Grand. Not to help him, because she didn't see how she could, but to experience what he was experiencing. She once interviewed an astronaut after the space shuttle Challenger exploded, and it shocked her when he said he envied them in a way: that they had died with their boots on.

Now she understood.

It seemed worth the danger, even the risk of dying, to be out there getting this story and phoning it in to Karen as it happened. The only reason she didn't was because it might hurt Grand. The scientist obviously had a feel for these things; if anyone could find out what was in the thicket and live to tell about it. Grand was that person.

So Hannah watched. Scared for Grand, frustrated at being on the sidelines, and also proud about having found the thing before Gearhart but now questioning the wisdom of not summoning him. She wished Grand would let them know what was out there, whether it was a stag or an owl or possibly their killer. But he was just standing there.

She crawled up slightly and stuck her head a little higher. Maybe Grand would see her and make some kind of sign.

He didn't. She inched up a little more. Stones fell from underfoot and clattered down the mountainside.

"Hannah-" the Wall quietly warned her.

"I know," Hannah whispered back.

She did. She was supposed to keep still and quiet. But the eyes weren't on her, they were on Grand. She turned back and looked down at her photographer. The Wall was lying against the mountain, cheek to rock, as though he were hugging the side of a trench.

"Wall, give me the camera with the telephoto lens," she said, softly but insistently.

"Why?"

"Please?"

"The professor said no pictures-"

"I know," she said. "I only want to try and get a better look."

"No," he said. "Just sit still."

"I can't! I promise I won't take any pictures," Hannah said. "I have to see."

The Wall hesitated. Then, with a sigh, he rose up slightly on his left hand. As he did stones fell away from under his feet.

"Shit!" he snarled.

The Wall froze as more stones fell. They clattered into rocks below and caused a small cascade. But the cliff-side didn't give out beneath him. Slowly, he lowered himself down.

"That's it," he said.

"What's it?"

He hunkered back down without removing the camera. "We're going to do what the man said. Wait."

"Wall-"

"You'll know what's out there soon enough," he said.

Hannah didn't bother arguing. She continued to look out at the milky, cloud-hazed forest.

This was maddening. Hannah was extremely disappointed at herself for not having gone with Grand. A reporter shouldn't be hiding behind a bunch of rocks. She should be in the middle of the investigation. Two could move as quietly as one, and the animal was as much her find-her responsibility, her risk-as it was Jim Grand's.

Just then, Grand moved. Instead of the back of his head she saw his face. But he was too far away for her to make out his expression or hear if he was saying anything.

She shrugged with her palms up and widened her eyes even though she knew he couldn't see them. If he wanted her to come over, he would have gestured in some way. So what did this mean? Was he getting ready to walk back or run back or go farther into the woods?

What? she screamed inside, her fingers curling slightly as she shook her upturned hands.

As the young woman watched, something moved. Not in the woods, but to her immediate left. Hannah turned and looked in that direction. A moment later she slowly raised her right hand, reached into her shirt for her dog tags, and held them tightly.

She swore silently.

She should have phoned in the damn story.