Borderline

by Nevada Barr

  “Nobody was hurt but Carmen,” Anna said, trying to put the good news before the bad. “She was nearly to the rim of the canyon when the first shot hit her and she fell.”

  “Dead?” Cyril asked. The younger woman wasn’t cold or uncaring; Anna didn’t get that sense at all. Cyril was a realist: a shot and a fall from the height Carmen was would probably be fatal.

  “I don’t know,” Anna said. “We can’t assume she is. I’ve seen people survive worse falls than she took, and we don’t know where the bullet hit her—or even if it did; it could have been a shard of rock from the impact—only that there was blood left on the rock where she bounced on her way down.”

  “We have to check,” Cyril said.

  “We do,” Anna agreed. The prospect of leaving a wounded woman to die alone in a heap of rocks in the desert was too miserable to contemplate. That vision, added to Anna’s existing nightmares, and even Paul’s arms couldn’t shut out the horrors waiting behind closed lids.

  “We also have to get ourselves out of here,” Anna said.

  “Another raft will be along,” Cyril returned. “Why not wait? They can take the baby with them and call somebody for us when they get out.”

  “Look at the river,” Anna said.

  In the time it had taken Anna to get Cyril’s attention and explain what had happened it had come up the beach a yard or more. The ribbon of land they occupied had been reduced from a generous forty feet of sand to less than half that.

  “It has quit raining, won’t it go down?”

  “Not if it’s still raining in the mountains.”

  “I can’t leave Easter,” Cyril said with that sad and determined edge Anna had heard before.

  “If you don’t leave the cow I will personally slit its throat,” Anna said.

  Cyril looked hard into her face. She could see Anna would do exactly what she said she would, whether she wanted to or not.

  “Okay,” Cyril said, and stood. “We should get back with the others.”

  Anna had not been chatting in the shade while rivers rose and bodies rotted because she was a lazy beast. She’d been hoping the passage of time would enlighten them in some way, shape or form as to what the shooter was up to. That or give him time to get over his killing rage and leave the premises. “Let me go first,” she said. “See if our buddy on the rim is still mad at us.”

  As she rose and walked back to where they could get over the spit of rocks most easily, she wondered if she was doing Cyril any favors by going first. Maybe she’d bring the shooter’s attention to them, and when Cyril showed, he’d be all ready and aimed. The thought didn’t take root; she knew that there were too many variables and too much was given to chance to win every hand.

  Walking quickly, she hugged the rocks where she could but she couldn’t shake the feeling of a bull’s-eye on her chest and was aware that she was checking her person for the red laser dot that preceded death on occasion. When nothing untoward occurred she turned around and motioned for Cyril to follow.

  No shots. Maybe he was gone. Maybe he was a she. That was a thought that usually came late to law enforcement. Anna was no exception. Violent crime wasn’t solely a man’s profession, but it tended to stick to the old traditional gender roles: men committed violence in the home and at work, to loved ones and strangers, for profit and sexual entertainment; women committed violence in the home and to family members for the most part. Women tended to outshoot the men in training for some reason, but it seldom translated to shooting animals for the fun of it, or hunting down people.

  For now, Anna would think of the shooter as he.

  She and Cyril scaled the rock, slid down the other side and made their way back to where Paul and Steve waited. Lori was with them now, and Chrissie, having no intention of leaving the really terrific shelter she’d dived into, was carrying on a campaign of questions in an attempt to ascertain precisely whose fault all this was and what they were going to do about it.

  “Chrissie is the daughter of Mother’s best friend from high school,” Cyril said, distancing herself from the complainer.

  “Ah,” Anna returned.

  They squished themselves into the crevice, Cyril tight against her brother, Anna pressing into the comfort of Paul’s right arm. Without her knowing how it happened, she was also holding Helena. The baby was so still and quiet Anna wondered if she’d died, and a searing pain rose up from her chest into her throat. Desperately she pressed an ear to the tiny chest and was reassured by a steady pulse of heartbeat.

  Coma was her next thought but she resisted the impulse to wake the baby up. If she was sleeping, that was a good thing. If she was comatose, there was nothing that could be done about it.

  “Helena’s going to get dehydrated,” Anna said. “We can drink river water if we have to but I’d hate to give her anything that could induce diarrhea or vomiting. Little as she is, she has no reserves.”

  “There’s some bottled water in the dry-bag we fished out of the river,” Paul said.

  “That’s my water.” Chrissie’s voice came from the crack next door.

  Nobody responded.

  “I take it there was nothing in the bag that she could eat,” Anna said.

  “Not unless she’ll eat chocolate-covered cherries.”

  “Those are mine,” Chrissie’s disembodied voice said.

  “They’re melted,” Steve called back.

  He was answered by a pathetic groan, then: “They’re still mine.” Steve rolled his eyes.

  “Can I hold her?” It was the first time Anna heard Lori speak. It was easy to forget she was there. For no good reason, Anna didn’t want to give her Helena, but she did. Lori was more centered, more present when she was caring for someone. Not a bad trait.

  “We wait here for the next raft?” Paul was asking Anna.

  “Maybe we can’t,” Anna said.

  “The water’s way up,” Cyril added. “You can really see how far it’s risen on the other side.”

  “Nobody shot at you two. Maybe whoever it was has gone,” Steve said hopefully. “We can climb partway up and wait it out. These river things don’t last all that long, do they?”

  “Depends,” Anna said. “But usually, no.”

  “Good thing we have all those chocolate-covered cherries to live on,” Steve said.

  “Those are mine,” came predictably from the ether. Steve and Cyril joined in on the “mine” to keep Chrissie company.

  For a time nobody said anything. Helena’s breathing, soft and tiny and regular, comforted Anna in an odd way. The baby was a cradle of life and Anna had, by lucky timing and an old jackknife, been able to preserve that life. It didn’t make up for the rest of the mess the world was in but she treasured it anyway.

  The silence went from active and listening for dangers from above to empty as thought drained out of brains and it became clear to the Kesslers, to Lori, maybe even to the quiescent Chrissie in her private condo that their leader was dead or dying and that Anna and Paul had no miracles to produce on their behalf.

  Unable to remain torpid for long, Anna was the first to rouse. “I’ve got to find Carmen. She may not be dead.”

  “Correction,” Paul said. “We’ve got to find Carmen.”

  “We’ve got to find Carmen,” Anna amended. Using the inclusive form of the verb was still new to her.

  “I’m getting wet all over again,” Chrissie wailed. She was a few feet closer to the river than the rest of them. Steve, closest to the exit of their miniature fortress, leaned out.

  “River’s at the doorstep,” he said.

  “We could float down feetfirst, like you showed us with Easter,” Cyril said.

  “Baby,” Anna replied.

  “Where did we leave our life jackets?” Paul asked. It was a rhetorical question. Glad to be on solid ground, they’d all doffed their vests and dumped them by the water’s edge. They’d be long gone by now.

  The day had worn on; the sun was no longer in the canyon. In the not t
oo distant future it would no longer be in Texas. Darkness might protect them from the rifleman, assuming he was still on the rim, but it would not protect them from the river, and climbing in the dark was not an option.

  “We all go,” she said. “Paul and I will go first, see if we attract any undue attention from our hateful buddy, and get as close to where we saw Carmen go down as we can. Lori, you take care of Helena for the time being.” Anna did not intend to let the plumpish, distracted young woman go boulder hopping with her baby if she could help it. “The four of you come behind us as far as there’s cover of some kind. Everybody got that?”

  “Easter . . .” Cyril made one last try.

  Anna drew her finger across her throat from ear to ear and the younger woman desisted.

  Chrissie hurtled into their crevasse, sprawling onto her knees and nearly knocking Cyril over. “It’s way wet back there,” she said as she bulldozed a place for herself between the twins.

  Anna suppressed the urge to deal with Chrissie the way she’d threatened to deal with the cow. “How does that sound to you, Paul?” She wasn’t asking her husband to be polite. She—they—needed all the help they could get.

  “We need to get the bottled water for the baby,” he said. It meant a trip into the open.

  “I’ll do it,” Steve said.

  “We should wait here,” Chrissie said. “Somebody will come get us. No way I’m going to climb up there and get shot to death.”

  “I’m afraid of heights,” Lori confessed in a rush.

  “I’ve heard drowning is one of the nicest ways to die,” Steve said. “Be sure and come back from the Other Side and let me know if it’s true.”

  For once Chrissie had nothing to say.

  The faces of the college kids looked pale and drawn. The four of them were tired and scared, hungry and thirsty and in a situation they had never been trained to deal with. The twins were resilient but Lori and Chrissie had not been taught to face adversity. They were products of the Barney generation where everybody always wins, trophies are given all around regardless of which team wins and playground insults are dealt with by the courts. They had been trained to passivity and entitlement, skills that were useless in the present situation. Had they also been trained to obedience it would have helped, but in Barney’s world everyone was a leader, regardless of ability.

  Anna didn’t have any trophies to hand out for not being drowned or shot yet, but she could offer them comfort. She hoped it would be enough to motivate them to climb.

  “With luck, when we find Carmen, we’ll find her sat phone,” Anna said. “Then, when we get to the top, we’ll just call park headquarters and they’ll send a helicopter for us.” Anna doubted Big Bend had a helicopter on tap to rescue people but she thought it would sound spiffier than a three-hour wait while the rangers hiked in or came on horseback. There were backcountry roads in Big Bend but Anna couldn’t remember one that ran along the edge of Santa Elena.

  That lightened the mood somewhat, and Anna decided to move before the mini-cheer winked out. “Paul, shall we?”

  “Let’s.” He stood, and they chicken-walked over the knees and ankles of the four college kids to the mouth of their personal canyon. Paul was ahead of Anna and stepped out first. He stopped for a moment and she knew he was purposely trapping her in safety behind him in case there was more gunfire.

  She poked him in the ribs. “Enough of that, Father Davidson,” she said with a laugh.

  “Can’t blame a man for trying,” he said. There was no gunfire, only the sound of rushing water and the deepening of the shadows as the sun traveled farther west. Staying close to the rabble of rocks, Paul walked quickly the few yards to where the ascent began. Anna looked back at the Rio Grande. It had devoured most of the land.

  “Steve, Cyril, come ahead,” Anna said. “You’re inches from getting your butts wet if you stay where you are.”

  Steve emerged first. He didn’t stop and block the way Paul had. Gender equality must have been inculcated in the womb. Cyril emerged from behind him and, as if Easter knew her savior was about to abandon her, she lowed plaintively. The water would have reached her Bermuda grass dining room, Anna guessed. Cyril’s lips thinned but she said nothing and she stopped short of giving Anna a dirty look, for which Anna was grateful. Lori, with Helena in her arms, was next.

  The baby was so good, Anna thought. Or so weak. Anna chose good because there was nothing she could do about the other. Chrissie was last. No surprise there. She’d be first to the dinner table, first to line up for dessert, but leave the honor to others when lining up to possibly take a bullet. Clever girl.

  Seeing the way she tried to shrink into herself, to surreptitiously shield herself behind the others, Anna almost felt sorry for her. Almost. It was good she’d never gone into teaching or motherhood. She most definitely had her favorites and very little compunction about showing it.

  Paul had worked his way up the slide, climbing between boulders on the route Carmen had taken. It could not be called a trail, but was doable with effort. The waters were not going to allow Anna her plan of leaving her rafting mates on the beach while she and Paul reconnoitered. The river was rising steadily and more quickly than before. Maybe it would continue this civilized inundation. Maybe it was heralding a flash flood, the buildup of too much rain in too little time at higher elevations.

  They would have to go together.

  “I’ll take the tail,” Anna called to Paul, invisible between the huge rocks. “I’ll also take Helena,” she said to Lori as she filed past to follow the others into the ascending maze. Lori stopped and with a sigh the size of what a three-week-old kitten might heave, she handed the bundle down to Anna.

  There was a crack as if the cliff was breaking in two and Lori fell forward. Blood came out of her throat in a gush. There would be no stopping it. The soft flesh of her throat was blown away, flesh and bone and cartilage splattering the pale gold of the shale, the crumpled body nearly beheaded by the blast.

  THIRTEEN

  The bullet that killed Lori smashed into the shale by Anna’s shoulder and splinters of stone pierced her back. Blood blinded her, dripped down her forehead and into her eyes, ran warm and dead over the backs of her hands. Chunks of Lori’s flesh adhered to Helena’s makeshift swaddling cloth. Clutching the baby tight to her breast, Anna spun around the corpse and into the rock pile. This shot had come from the American side. Lori had fallen into Anna; the exit wound was in the front of the throat, not the back. Paul and the others were climbing into a death trap. She didn’t shout for them to come back. In a minute more there would be no back to come to, only the river, and it seemed as vicious as the man with the gun.

  Retching pulled Anna back into the moment. Chrissie, her face gray beneath her tan, eyes so wide the whites showed around the pupils, was vomiting, the bile running down her front because there was no room to bend over.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Anna was saying.

  “You’ve got blood all over you,” Chrissie screamed, as if it was Anna’s fault, as if she was doing it to scare and harass her. “And . . . and . . .” She puked again.

  “I’ll buy you a new one,” Anna promised the baby as she used the brief respite to try to wipe her face clean with a corner of the down bag Helena was wrapped in.

  When Lori’s throat exploded out, Anna and the baby had been hosed down with the final pump of her carotid. The human body contained about six quarts of blood. It felt as if half of that had been poured over her face and hair.

  Eyes cleared, Anna saw Chrissie again staring at her, trembling, her mouth starting to go soft and stupid.

  “Snap out of it,” Anna said. “Now. Lori is dead. If you don’t get past that you’re going to be dead too. You got that, Chrissie? Do I have to slap some sense into you?”

  Chrissie’s sense of self overcame her horror. “Bitch,” she hissed at Anna, and turned abruptly to begin the climb.

  “Keep your head down,” Anna called after her.
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  Chrissie didn’t look back, just raised one hand and flipped Anna the bird.

  Anna wished everyone was as easy to manipulate as Christine Atwater. Life would be a lot less pleasant but a good deal easier.

  “She’s not dead,” she heard Chrissie saying. “She’s a bitch.”

  Given the choice between the two, Anna delighted with bitch.

  “Anna?” Paul was in front of Chrissie, too little room to get around her; he held her shoulders between his hands and looked past her. “My God,” he said when he got a clear look at her face.

  “None of the blood is mine or Helena’s,” Anna said quickly. “Lori’s dead.”

  The twins had come back with Paul. Cyril perched like a praying mantis one boulder up from Paul, her head below the line of sight from the canyon rim. Steve stood in front of her, his hand resting on one of her sandaled feet.

  “I thought he was done,” Cyril said. “Why didn’t he shoot at us when we were strolling along after you made me leave Easter?”

  “He could have shot me when we came out of our cubby,” Steve said. “Easier even when I went and retrieved the baby’s water.”

  “Why now? Why Lori?” Cyril finished her and her brother’s common thought.

  “Why don’t you quit yakking and do something about it?” Chrissie demanded.

  “I’m sorry,” Anna said. “I don’t know why Lori or why now or why at all. What I do know is he’s not going to kill anybody else. We know where he is and what he is capable of. Don’t worry. We’re going to be just fine.”

  “Fine,” Paul echoed in his light, warm voice and he smiled his slow, safe smile. Anna knew he didn’t have any better idea of what to do than she did, knew he was as aware of the gravity of their situation as she was. Still the smile and the word settled her nerves as it settled the nerves of the others.

  Water coiled cold and dirty around Anna’s ankles. “It’s coming fast,” she told Paul. “Let’s see how far up the slide we can get before we’ve got to show ourselves. Maybe we’ll find a spot high enough we can wait this out.”