At the edge of the soccer field Kom paused, listening for signs of pursuit. He was breathing heavily and the noise of the storm made it impossible for him to hear anything. He saw no lights behind him. He gasped several times, then held his breath, straining to hear the sound of voices or footfalls in the woods, Confident that he was not being followed, he struck out directly across the open soccer field, shortening his route toward home. The field was open to the sky but that did not greatly alter its visibility. The light from distant houses illuminated the dark and roiling hottoms of the clouds but did little to brighten the field itself. He was glad that he knew his way, it was a great advantage. But then he had many advantages, he told himself as he walked quickly across the open space. There seemed no need to run. He was smarter than they were, he was more experienced than they were-had he not outwitted them and again? — and he was not going to panic. He was calm, he told himself, exhilarated but mentally calm, not frightened at all. He did not bother to define who they were, they were the forces that would contain him and cripple him and prevent the Cap'n from operating. He had bested them for years and years and he had no doubt that he would continue to do so. The weight of destiny was on his side, he felt. It wanted him to succeed.
In the middle of the field he looked over his shoulder. Anyone moving would be visible; Kom's trained eye would pick them out as they entered the field. There was no one. He had eluded his pursuers. He grinned to himself, then started to chuckle, careful to keep the sound of his elation low.
Something moved at the edge of the woods that was his destination. A dark shape disengaged itself from the darker background and stepped into the field. Kom stopped and blinked, thinking it must be his imagination, a creation of the rain and wind. The shape moved again and took the form of a man. Kom veered off his line and headed left, hurrying now, keeping his eyes on the man, who did not move again once he had revealed himself. Kom could feel him watching and expected at any minute to see the man give chase or shout or train a light on him.
He reached the trees with relief and started on a long arc to bypass the man and swing around toward his home once more. He moved more cautiously now, even though he was nearly certain that the man had not been pursuing him after all, that he was a bystander, some homeowner out for a walk in the storm, an innocent. Nonetheless, Kom paused frequently to listen and scan the woods in front and on his right side where the man had appeared. There was nothing, he was alone, and every step, every uneventful check inspired him with renewed confidence.
Kom started up a small hill and saw a tree move along the crest, saw it split itself in two so that two trunks stood were there had been only one before. The new trunk extended a branch and Kom realized that it was a man, one arm pointing straight at him as if it were a weapon. With alarm, Kom veered sharply to his left again, stumbling away from the man. When he looked back, the man was still there, standing like a sentinel. When Kom moved, the man's arm moved so that it was always pointing at him. Kom widened his arc, scrambling farther away until he could no longer see the man or his threatening gesture.
He fell, trying to watch over his shoulder while hurrying forward, and picked himself up quickly, fearful that the man might suddenly be upon him.
After five minutes without further incident he had convinced himself that the men were hunters seeking deer illegally, which would account for their silence. He felt better; he had eluded the pursuit, he was still winning, everything would be fine.
He had come to the edge of a lawn and paused, deciding whether to take the shortcut or skirt the open space, when once more the shape of a man stepped forth from the shadows, alarmingly close this time, and lifted an arm to point accusingly at him. Stifling a cry, Kom ran to his left again, stumbling and crashing through the underbrush, finding himself in a tangle of vines and brambles that tore at him and clung to him like hands. He looked back, dreading the sight of the man approaching, but saw nothing. With a gasp he broke free of the restraining vines and ran.
Kom tripped and fell, his shoulder colliding hard with a tree. He landed heavily and lay still for a moment, trying to get his bearings; then, remembering the closeness of the man, he frantically rolled to his side so that his back was not exposed, and stared into the darkness.
Nothing moved except the branches in the canopy that thrashed eerily from his ground-level perspective, witches' fingers clawing the night air.
He lay perfectly still for what he thought was a long time, curled into the fetal position, watching. He began to think of himself as invisible; if the man was looking for him, he would not think to look on the ground, he would have passed on by now, he would not have seen Kom.
How could he see him? He would lie there a bit longer, letting the man get completely out of range; then he would backtrack, slip around him.
As he felt the courage and brilliance of his plan renew his confidence, the dripping of the rain from the trees, the sodden clothes that clung to his skin no longer bothered him.
Once more a tree split in twain and the man stood there, scant yards away, arm outstretched. It was impossible, it was right where Kom had been looking all along, the man could not have been there-yet there he was. Kom froze like a rabbit, praying he was not seen. Slowly the man lowered his arm until it was pointing directly at him. Kom could make out no features on the man's face in the darkness, only his outline, silhouetted against the background of trees, but he knew now that it was Becker.
He ran in the only direction allowed to him, knowing he was being herded like a sheep. He thought of turning and confronting his tormentor, but he understood that when he turned, Becker would not be there, he would have vanished in the gloom; that he appeared only when he wanted to be seen. It was the thought of having him suddenly swoop down upon his back that kept Kom running. He feared him now as he would a giant bird of prey, an adversary that had different senses, was ruled by different urges from those of men. Whenever he tried to swerve toward his house, Becker was there like a wraith, directing him to the way he must go.
When he turned back, the man was there too, his finger pointing accusatorily. Kom was half running, half crawling now, trying futilely to get ahead of his tormentor, slipping, falling, covered with mud, soaked to the skin. Clothes torn, flesh scraped and bruised, his broken nose now throbbing with insistent ache, he proceeded sometimes erect, sometimes on all fours like a running ape, lashed and harried through a nightmare gauntlet of flailing branches and tripping roots.
Becker had driven him to the watershed preserve of the reservoir and Kom labored up a hill, following a path as best he could, seeking a tunnel through the encroaching trees, a trail one arms'-span wide where the whiplike boughs would not seek his eyes and claw at his aching face.
Even in the dark, pursued by a specter, Kom knew where he was. He was approaching familiar ground-the orchard he had used as his private cemetery was on the other side of the hill, the reservoir beyond it. He would have an advantage there, he told himself. He knew the territory better than anyone. In some sections the trees were small, too low to hide behind. Becker was making a mistake herding him there. Kom would be on his own turf and he would turn and destroy Becker as he had done Kiwasee.
Halfway up the hill he stumbled again and this time he stayed down, groping with both hands until his fingers came upon a fallen limb.