Chapter 2: ESCAPE OF THE DEAD

A delightfull dreaminess crept over me, softening the tension in my limbs. My body begged for sleep, but just as I began to succumb, a faint but unmistakable sound shattered the stillness: hoofbeats. Horses, drawing near. Instinct flared within me, and I attempted to leap to my feet—only to find my muscles unresponsive, as if shackled by invisible chains. A wave of horror surged through me. I was fully awake, yet utterly paralyzed, as though my body had turned to stone.

It was then that I noticed it: a thin, almost imperceptible vapor swirling faintly in the air around me. Against the jagged outline of the cave entrance, where daylight spilled in, the haze became visible, dancing like a ghostly veil. A sharp, acrid odor pricked my nostrils, faint but sinister, and I could only assume that I had fallen victim to some poisonous gas. But why did my mind race with clarity, yet my body lay inert, a helpless prisoner of its own flesh.

I was positioned in such a way that I could see the narrow trail outside the cave. The strip of path ran precariously close to the cliff's edge before vanishing around a jagged turn. The hoofbeats had stopped, replaced by an eerie silence. My heart thudded in my chest as realization dawned: they were coming. Stealthy. Deliberate. The Indians, surely, were creeping along the ledge, their prey within reach.

Fear tightened its grip on my thoughts, yet it wasn't death I dreaded most. The trail ahead promised only one destination—my living tomb, dark and final—but it was not the end that terrified me. No, it was what might precede it: the slow, unspeakable torments of men moved by vengeance or cruel sport. My only solace was a grim hope: that when they found me, they would dispatch me swiftly, sparing me the anguish of their worst imaginings.

I didn't have to wait long before a faint, stealthy sound broke the stillness, alerting me to their approach. Then, a face emerged—paint streaks slashed across skin and a war bonnet framing fierce, unblinking eyes. The savage gaze fixed on me, cautious but piercing, as if trying to strip away the shadows of the cave.

The early morning sun streamed through the opening behind me, bathing me in light. I had no doubt he could see me clearly, yet he made no move to advance. Instead, he froze, staring as though turned to stone, his eyes wide with a strange mix of fear and astonishment. His mouth hung slightly open, words unspoken or perhaps forgotten altogether.

Moments later, another face appeared beside his, then another, and another. One by one, they craned their necks around the narrow edge of the cliff, their expressions mirroring the first—wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as if they had seen something impossible. The ledge was too narrow for them to pass, so the rest crowded behind, their whispers faint but insistent as the leaders relayed some message back to those they obstructed.

The scene was surreal, their awe and terror palpable. Yet I had no idea what had so unnerved them. I could only watch as they regarded me with growing intensity, my own curiosity overshadowed by the instinct to remain utterly still. It was not until ten years later that I would learn the reason for their fear.

Suddenly a low moaning sound echoed from the cavern behind me, a sound so unnerving it seemed to shiver through the very air. The Indians froze, their wide eyes darting toward the darkness. Then, as if seized by some primal terror, they turned and fled, their flight chaotic and desperate. One brave, in his frantic scramble, lost his footing and tumbled from the cliff, his scream cut short by the cruel rocks below. Their cries of alarm ricocheted through the canyon, a haunting cacophony that faded all too quickly, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.

The eerie sound was not repeated, but its impact lingered, gnawing at the edges of my resolve. My thoughts raced, conjuring images of the unspeakable horror that might dwell in the shadows behind me. I dared not turn, as if facing it would bring some unimaginable fate to fruition.

Fear, I have learned, is a slippery emotion—hard to define, impossible to forget. I can only compare the dread that gripped me then to the perilous moments I've known before and since. Yet I confess, without shame, that if what I felt then was truly fear, then may God have mercy on the coward, for cowardice is, in itself, the harshest punishment.

To be trapped, paralyzed, with your back turned toward an unseen terror — a threat so potent that it sends even the ferocious Apache warriors into a panicked stampede, like sheep fleeing wolves — seems the pinnacle of a man's worst nightmare. For one who had spent his life battling for survival with every ounce of strength in a powerful body, this was the ultimate predicament.

More than once, I thought I heard the faintest sounds behind me, the careful tread of something — or someone — moving in the dark. But as the minutes passed, those sounds dwindled into eerie silence, leaving me alone with my thoughts and my fear. I could only guess at the cause of my paralysis, a cold and inexplicable grip on my limbs, and clung to the faint hope that it might dissipate as suddenly as it had arrived.

By late afternoon, my horse, tethered loosely before the cave, began to stir. Its reins dragged across the ground as it wandered slowly down the trail, clearly searching for food or water. I was left in the oppressive solitude, with my mysterious unknown companion and the dead body of my friend to keep me company. The body — the one I had so carefully placed upon the rocky ledge earlier that day — lay within my line of sight, a grim reminder of the morning's events, a silent witness to my struggle against the encroaching unknown.

From that moment, until what seemed the stroke of midnight, there was nothing but silence—the still, oppressive quiet of the dead. Then, without warning, the awful moan of the approaching dawn shattered the heavy air, sending a jolt through my already frayed senses. Once again, from the abyssal darkness, came the unmistakable sound of movement, the faint rustling as of dry leaves stirred by an unseen wind. My heart thundered in my chest, a frantic rhythm that echoed my racing thoughts, and every nerve in my body screamed in terror. The shock to my already stretched nerves was nothing short of agonizing, and with every ounce of willpower, I struggled against my unseen, inescapable bonds. It was not a physical effort; my body remained frozen, paralyzed as if encased in some invisible prison. No, it was a battle of the mind, the spirit—a wrenching fight against the unseen forces that held me fast.

Then, with a sharp, sickening snap—like the breaking of an iron chain—I felt something give. The sensation was like a surge of electricity coursing through me, followed by a wave of nausea, so intense it threatened to drown me in its fury. In that moment, I stood, facing my unknown foe, my back pressed against its cold, unyielding wall.

And then, like a curtain drawn aside, the pale light of the moon poured into the cave, illuminating the scene. There, sprawled upon the ground before me, lay the very body I had once inhabited, lifeless and still. Its eyes, wide open, stared blankly toward the open ledge; its hands rested limply on the ground. My gaze flickered between this cold, inert shell of myself and the strange, naked form that stood before it. A chill ran down my spine as the truth began to unfold: there, upon the ground, was my body as it had been—broken, still, and yet unmistakably mine. But the form that faced it, standing with shaking limbs in the moonlit cave, was not clothed in the same way. I was not encumbered by fabric, not bound by the earthly vessel of skin and bone I had once known.

I was naked—utterly, inexplicably so—and yet I could feel the weight of my own confusion pressing upon me like a suffocating fog. The profound bewilderment threatened to tear my fragile grip on sanity apart.

The transition had been so abrupt, so utterly unexpected, that it left me, for a moment, entirely consumed by the strangeness of my transformation. My mind struggled to grasp the enormity of it, and my first thought was one of dread: Is this death? Had I truly crossed over into some other realm, some uncharted existence? But even as that question took root, I felt the insistent beat of my heart thundering against my ribs, an undeniable sign that I was far from lifeless. My lungs, too, heaved with desperate, shallow breaths, each one a sharp reminder that I was still bound to this world. Cold sweat clung to my skin, a clammy sheen that betrayed my alarm. And when I pinched myself, expecting no response, the sharp sting of pain answered the question—I was no wraith.

Before I could fully process this strange change, a guttural, echoing moan erupted from the depths of the cave. My senses, already frayed from the overwhelming shift, snapped back into focus, every instinct now screaming at me to flee. But there was nowhere to run, and I was defenseless—naked, exposed, with no weapon at hand to confront whatever unseen terror stalked me from the shadows. The moan was not just a sound; it was a warning, a promise of something far more sinister lurking in the dark.

My revolvers were strapped to my lifeless body, but for some unfathomable reason, I couldn't bring myself to touch them. My carbine rested in its boot, fastened securely to my saddle, but with my horse gone, I was left defenseless. The weight of helplessness pressed down on me. The only alternative was to flee, and that choice was forced upon me when I heard it again—the rustling sound—something moving in the shadows of the cave, too close for comfort, creeping toward me.

I could no longer ignore the rising panic. With a surge of desperation, I sprang through the narrow opening of the cave and into the crisp Arizona night. The starlit sky above, vast and unfeeling, seemed to offer no solace, but the cold mountain air was a sharp, invigorating tonic. It pierced my lungs and sent a new current of life through my veins. I paused at the edge of the rocky ledge, breathing in the stillness of the desert, and scolded myself for my earlier terror.

In that moment of clarity, the fear seemed absurd, almost laughable. I had been trapped in that cave for hours without a hint of danger. Nothing had touched me, and the silence that enveloped me now felt almost sacred. The more I thought about it, the more I realized how irrational my fear had been. I reasoned that I had lain in the cave for hours, untouched and unbothered, and yet here I was, still on edge. My clearer judgment—once freed from the grip of panic—told me the noises, the rustling—surely they were just the echoes of the cave, a product of the wind's capricious play. Perhaps the shape of the rock formations had caused some strange acoustics, amplifying the wind's breath into something unnatural.

I decided to investigate, but first I paused for a moment, letting the cool mountain air fill my lungs—pure, sharp, and invigorating. As I looked up, the vast, moonlit expanse of the world below unfolded before me. A rocky gorge wound its way through the land, leading to a flat, cactus-dotted plain, bathed in the soft, silver glow of the moon. It was a scene both serene and surreal, a landscape transformed into something otherworldly, where shadows and light danced across the earth, creating a miracle of subtle beauty.

There are few sights as breathtaking as an Arizona moonlit night. The distant silvered peaks of the mountains, the eerie interplay of light and shadow upon the jagged hogbacks and arroyos, and the twisted, ancient forms of the cacti—each element contributed to a vision that was at once captivating and profound. It was as though I were peering into a forgotten realm, a world untouched by time, where nothing existed but the quiet majesty of nature, both strange and familiar, as if I were glimpsing a place that had long since slipped from the memory of our planet.

As I stood there, immersed in deep contemplation, I shifted my gaze from the tranquil landscape to the vast heavens above. The stars, scattered in brilliant constellations, formed a resplendent canopy, their celestial light shimmering like an intricate tapestry woven across the night. Yet, my attention was quickly captured by a solitary, brilliant red star, low on the horizon. Its hue burned with a fierce intensity, like the heart of some ancient flame.

It was Mars, the god of war, whose very presence had always stirred something primal within me. For a fighter, a man of battle, it held an allure that transcended reason. There was a magnetic pull in its fiery glow, a call that seemed to reverberate through the very marrow of my bones. On that still, far-off night, Mars was no longer a distant, indifferent star; it became something personal, something alive—beckoning, drawing me in with a power beyond my will.

I felt it, that pull—irresistible, like iron to a lodestone. My heart thudded in my chest as if it could answer the star's call. My body betrayed me, and without thought, I closed my eyes, stretched my arms wide toward the heavens, as if to embrace my destiny. The night around me seemed to dissolve.

In that moment, I felt myself being pulled, not by any earthly force, but by something more—something otherworldly. I was no longer bound to the soil, no longer a mere mortal, but a creature in motion, swept away by an unseen current. The world around me vanished, and I was adrift in the cold, endless expanse of the universe. Time became irrelevant, and space itself seemed to fold. There was a rush, a dizzying sensation, as if I were both everywhere and nowhere at once.

Then came the stillness—the void. The sudden cold. The absolute blackness.