I walked as close as I dared to the firelit clearing, then crawled even closer and peered through a gap in the bushes.
And found her.
Found a tent, a campfire, and Judy.
The green tent was pitched a few yards to the right of the fire. The fire, burning brightly, cast its glow far enough to shine on Judy.
Nobody else seemed to be there.
But someone belonged to the campsite. Someone had pitched the tent, built the fire, and captured Judy. Someone had put her this way.
She stood under a tree limb, her arms high, her wrists tied together. The rope went over the top of the limb. I couldn’t see where it came down, but the other end must’ve been tied to a tree somewhere behind her. She wasn’t dangling, or standing on tiptoes, but she didn’t have enough rope to let her slouch. She looked as if she were stretching for the ground. Her back was arched. Her skin was pulled so taut that all her ribs showed. Her breasts were drawn high. Her belly looked flat and long. She stood with her legs pressed tightly together. Her feet, flat against the ground, weren’t tied.
When I’d left her on the picnic table, she’d been wearing her shoes and socks, her skirt, and her blouse. The skirt had been rucked up around her belly and her blouse had been pulled half off, but she’d still had them on. Now, they were gone.
All she wore now was a hat and a gag.
An old, felt hat covered her head all the way down to the eyebrows. Her upraised arms pinned the brim up against its sides. The strange hat must’ve belonged to her attacker. Maybe he’d jammed it on her head to hold a bandage against her gunshot wound. Or maybe he liked how she looked in it.
The hat made her look like some sort of beautiful hillbilly girl. Maybe the Feds had stripped and tortured her, trying to make her give up the location of her moonshine still.
Of course, she couldn’t tell any secrets with the gag in her mouth. It looked like a red bandana. The sort of thing you might see tied around the forehead of Willy Nelson or around the neck of a too-cute-for-words dog. In this case, it was stuck in Judy’s mouth and tied somewhere behind her neck.
A gag like that could suffocate someone. But Judy seemed to be okay. From where I watched, I could see her ribcage expanding and contracting. She was able to breathe, if only through her nose.
Her eyes were shut. She couldn’t be unconscious, though, and still stand that straight and rigid and hold her head up.
Probably just resting.
She’d had a hard night.
Mostly because of me. Well, all because of me, in the sense that I’d dragged her into the whole mess.
Just goes to show what a wrong address can do.
But I’d also been the one who shot her and beat her with a stick. From my hiding place behind the bush, I could see plenty of bruises and scratches and swollen places on her body. Most of them had been put there by me.
Maybe all of them.
Some bastard had grabbed her, brought her here, stripped her, tied her under the tree, shoved that silly hat onto her head and gagged her mouth, but I wasn’t sure he’d hurt her.
Don’t forget the shrieks.
He’d probably raped her. He must’ve raped her. You don’t grab a gal and strip her naked and hang her by a rope that way, and not rape her. Logic tells you that.
I couldn’t tell by looking, though.
This may sound funny, but I hoped he hadn’t done it.
Judy didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. She was a beautiful, fine, sweet girl, and I liked her. I never saw her as my enemy. Only as my problem.
She could “finger” me.
So she had to go.
But not like this?
I hated it to be like this.
But in part of my mind, I knew it was perfect! This was like a best-case scenario. I wouldn’t be murdering her at all. And therefore, nobody could ever pin it on me. They’d nail this bastard for it, or nobody. And they’d likely figure he’s the one who chopped Tony into little pieces, too.
Because of this guy, whoever he might be, suspicion would never fall on me. I ought to be cheering him on.
But I couldn’t.
I didn’t want him to rape her, kill her, touch her.
Weird, huh?
I’m not sure how to explain it. Maybe I’m not even sure why I felt that way. It wasn’t that I wanted to save her, or spare her the pain, or anything like that.
I mean, I did and I didn’t.
I would’ve loved to spare her, but she had to go.
The thing is, I had to be the one to do it.
Not this guy, whoever he might be.
Not this stranger, this interloper, this thief.
She was mine, not his.
20
CHOICES
Opening her eyes, Judy stared straight at me. I caught my breath. My heart pounded faster.
Can she see me?
I didn’t think so. I was well hidden in the bushes.
If I can see her, she can see me.
Maybe so, I thought. But I still doubted that she’d spotted me. She didn’t react, just stood there the same as before, stretched tall, her skin agleam in the firelight.
I raised the pistol and took aim.
Judy still didn’t react, so she was obviously unaware of me and the gun.
I aimed for her heart.
She was about twenty-five or thirty feet away. That’s farther than it sounds, when it comes to hitting a target with such a small handgun.
I could certainly hit her. But where wasn’t certain at all.
Shooting for her heart, I might just as easily hit her in the neck or shoulder or breast or stomach. I might only nick her in one side or the other.
The chances of killing her with the first shot were slim.
It might take three or four rounds to do the job.
Then what would I have left for the guy who’d brought her here?
And where the hell was he, anyway?
Asleep in the tent? Maybe. Or maybe wandering the woods to gather firewood.
Or sneaking up on me.
When that little idea popped into my head, I got goosebumps again. They went scurrying everywhere. I brought the gun back close to my body and dropped onto one knee. Twisting from side to side, I checked behind me.
Nothing but darkness.
And I couldn’t even see the darkness very well. The campfire had ruined my night vision.
My hearing was okay, though. I heard nobody trying to sneak up on me.
Doesn’t mean he isn’t.
I turned forward again and studied the campsite. Judy’s head was now bowed and her eyes seemed to be shut. Maybe she’d fallen asleep or passed out.
Other than that, everything looked the same.
I stared at the tent. It was about as high as my chest (if I’d been standing up) and maybe seven or eight feet long. Big enough for one or two guys sleeping lengthwise. No light seemed to be on inside it. With that kind of material—nylon, I guess—the light would’ve seeped right through. From where I stood, I couldn’t see whether or not the front was open.
The longer I watched the tent, the more certain I felt that Judy’s attacker must be inside. Cozy in his sleeping bag, and fast asleep. After all, he’d had a long and busy night. And that’s what guys do after they’ve screwed you—they sleep.
If he was asleep in the tent, I could do whatever I pleased.
But what should I do?
1. Kill them both?
2. Kill him and rescue Judy?
3. Avoid him and rescue Judy?
4. Avoid him and kill Judy?
5. Avoid them both, go home, and hope for the best?
Other possibilities entered my mind. Most of them involved trying to capture the guy, and what I might do with him afterward. Or what Judy and I might do to him. Or what the three of us might do together.
That stuff didn’t seem practical, though.
Too risky.
Basically, I had only the five realistic choices. I gave them a lot of thoug
ht. Each had merits and disadvantages. After a while, though, I managed to rule out the plans that involved killing the man.
You don’t want to kill your fall guy.
That whittled the choices down to three. Should I kill Judy, rescue her, or go home?
If I went home, the guy would still have her as a prisoner to torture, rape and murder as he wished. From a purely logical standpoint, I couldn’t ask for anything better. But I hated the idea. He had no right to her. She was mine, not his.
Which didn’t seem like a very good argument.
I mean, this was supposed to be about my survival. If the guy kills her, I’m home free. I’d be a fool to interfere just because of some bizarre emotional thing about Judy.
The logic nearly convinced me to leave her.
But then I found a fairly good argument against it.
What if he doesn’t kill her?
It seemed ridiculous, at first. A guy in his position had to finish Judy off. You can’t let a girl live after this sort of thing. She’ll tell on you.
But something might go wrong.
Maybe he doesn’t have what it takes to finish her off. Or what if she escapes? Or maybe somebody comes along and scares him away or arrests him or…who knows? I could think up plenty of scenarios.
Hell, I’d gotten away a few times myself. I’d gotten out of tougher jams than this one Judy was in.
If I could do it, she could, too. She might not be as tough as me, but she was likely smarter.
Anyway, I just couldn’t count on the guy killing her. And that gave me the excuse I’d been looking for. The option of walking away was no good.
That left me with two choices. Do I kill her or rescue her?
Judy obviously needed to be killed. And I should do it quietly, with a rock. But should I do it here, or “rescue” her and take her somewhere else to do it?
If I did it here, the guy would still have her body. I didn’t like certain aspects of that, but I really liked the aspect that he might get caught with it.
On the other hand, if I “rescued” her, we could go somewhere else and have plenty of privacy. I liked the idea of that. I liked it a lot. But disliked the possibility that she might escape from me.
Whereas she wouldn’t stand a chance of escape if I walked over and bashed her head in while she dangled there.
It was a hard decision.
I kept going back and forth.
I couldn’t make up my mind.
So finally I decided not to decide. I would play it by ear.
In the clearing, Judy still hung with her head down and her eyes shut. But the campfire had dwindled. Her skin no longer shimmered so brightly with the golden light. She looked darker now, and less distinct.
If I waited a while longer, the fire might dwindle down to nothing and I would have darkness on my side.
Then again, I might be running out of night.
I’d lost track of time, but figured it had to be after three o’clock in the morning. Maybe even after four. Waiting any longer would be foolish.
Carefully, I stood up. My body felt stiff and sore, but I managed to rise without groaning or making any other sound. With the pistol in my right hand, I crept away from the clearing. Then I slowly circled around to the other side, staying in the darkness. Finally, I approached the campsite from behind Judy.
The fire had dwindled even lower. Judy was little more than a dark shape hanging below the limb, a silhouette against the fire’s dim glow.
There was still no sign of the man who had put her there.
From my new position, I could see the front of the tent. Its flaps were shut. I figured he must be inside.
Fast asleep.
Standing motionless for a while, I watched and listened. Then I moved in with slow, gentle steps. Though I tried to be silent, a little noise couldn’t be helped. The ground was covered with old leaves and twigs. The leaves sounded like wads of paper crinkling and crunching under my shoes. Some twigs broke like toothpicks. Others snapped like pencils.
I kept my eyes on Judy. She never flinched or raised her head, never reacted in any way to the sounds of my approach.
When I was only a few strides away from her, I realized that I didn’t have a rock yet.
Stopping, I squatted and studied the ground. There were old, dead branches scattered around, but no rocks. None nearby, anyway.
Too bad I didn’t have the one from the creek.
It’s not that there were no rocks in sight. I saw a whole bunch of them. But they were out in the middle of the campsite. Three or four boulders, large enough to sit on, were arranged near the fire. I couldn’t really use one of those. But dozens of smaller rocks, stacked about a foot high, formed a low wall around the fire.
Most of them looked to be the right size for pounding out Judy’s brains.
Most of them would probably be hot, too. But there had to be some that wouldn’t burn my fingers, and I only needed one.
To get it, of course, I would need to abandon the darkness and enter the clearing. Stride out past Judy. Search for my rock out in the open, directly in front of the tent.
Why not?
Judy’s head was down and the tent flaps were shut.
Besides, her mouth was gagged. Even if she saw me, she couldn’t cry out.
Also, I had the pistol. If things went sour, I could start shooting people.
Before going anywhere, I made sure the safety was off.
The gun shook like crazy in my hand. I was plenty scared. But this wasn’t the creepy sort of fear that gives you goosebumps. This was the kind that makes your heart pound like a club, makes you shake like a lunatic and sweat like a glass full of ice in a heat wave. It makes your legs feel so weak you think they’ve decided, on their own, to keep you from walking into trouble.
But I made mine walk.
There’s this thing about me. Maybe you’ve already noticed it. I’m the sort of gal who gets things done. I’ll do almost anything, no matter how dangerous or messy or awful it might be, if I figure it’s a thing that needs doing.
I wanted a rock, so I made myself go for it.
Staying about five feet away from Judy’s left side, I walked softly past her. She just stood there, arms high, head down. Except for her breathing, she didn’t seem to move at all.
When I was in front of her, I looked back. I’d expected a better view, but the flames had sunk very low. She was bathed in a murky glow that trembled with shadows as if I were looking at her under water.
I couldn’t even tell whether her eyes were shut.
But she didn’t act as if she saw me.
I kept walking.
I glanced at the tent, scanned the clearing ahead of me, checked over each shoulder, eyed the tent again, and several times twisted around for a brief look at Judy.
And wished I could see her better.
Darkness was good for sneaking around, and I should’ve been grateful for it. But I’d expected more firelight. I wanted to be able to see what I was doing—and see Judy.
So when I reached the fire, I crept around to the other side, crouched down by a small pile of wood, and started adding sticks to the shaky remains of the flames.
21
A HELL OF A GAL
Within a few seconds, the fire grew brighter. I added more sticks, and larger ones. They crackled and snapped, crawling with flames.
As I built up the fire, I kept watch on the front of the tent. It stayed shut. No light or sounds came from inside.
I added larger sticks and chunks of branches.
It seemed crazy, even to me. Had I lost my mind? Did I want to get caught?
Who knows?
I kept telling myself that nobody wakes up just because a fire outside the tent is getting larger.
But it was getting louder, too. A lot more snapping and crackling. And every so often, a burning stick would go off with a bam!
I refused to stop adding wood, though, until the fire was large and bright.
; Bright enough for its light to spread over Judy.
When her skin gleamed like molten gold, I stood up. I started to step around the fire, then realized I’d forgotten to grab a rock.
Bending over, I patted a few of the rocks along the top of the fire circle. They all felt hot enough to scorch my fingers.
Neat play.
If I’d been taking care of business, I would’ve found one before building up the fire.
Too late, now.
But the far side of the wall wasn’t being lapped by flames, so I hurried over there. Sure enough, several of the rocks were only mildly warm.
After switching the pistol to my left hand, I used my right to pick up one I liked. It was shaped like a large wedge of pie, and must’ve weighed three or four pounds. Perfect.
On my way over to Judy, I turned around completely a couple of times. The clearing, now alive with firelight, looked deserted. Nobody seemed to be peering out at us from the woods. The tent was dark, its flaps still shut.
Judy’s head still hung down. She didn’t seem to know I was there.
I slipped the pistol into my pocket, held the rock behind my rump so she wouldn’t be able to see it, and walked up to her.
Where my shadow fell on Judy, her shine vanished. I stepped sideways enough to let the firelight reach her.
Her skin was so sweaty she looked as if she’d been rubbed with oil.
“Judy?” I whispered.
She didn’t stir.
I slid my left hand gently up her side. She was slick and smooth and hot.
“Judy?” I asked, a little louder.
She still didn’t respond. My hand was just below her armpit, so that’s where I patted her a few times.
“Judy. Wake up. It’s me.”
Nothing. So I gave her a good, solid smack in the same place. Her breasts lurched. With a gasp, she jerked her head up. She looked into my eyes.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m here to save you.”
Her eyes flicked from side to side, studying me. She moaned into her gag.
I glanced over my shoulder to make sure nobody was coming. Then I faced Judy again and went into my routine. “I thought you were dead,” I told her. “Somebody ambushed us and you went down. Do you remember?”
She shook her head slightly from side to side.
After Midnight Page 13
