Montana Rhapsody

by Susanna Solomon

  He looked puzzled.

  “Oh, honey, you’re going to like this,” she cooed.

  He smiled.

  Easy, she said to herself. Not too fast. Easy now.

  “Didn’t I make you a promise, sweetheart? Relax.” She stared at his ugly mug, and reached one hand to run through his scruffy hair. “You need some help opening your pants?”

  He fumbled with his belt with his free hand, tightening it at first to release the prong of his belt buckle. He thrust his hips to get a better grip when the belt wouldn’t come free.

  She felt his arousal. “Oh, honey, I can do that for you,” she whispered, her breath warm and soft on his ear. “It’s part of the game, letting the other person ease your pain.”

  “But you’re tying me up.”

  “That’s the fun of it, don’t you think?” She grinned. “I’ll release you as soon as you want, all right. Just say ‘uncle.’”

  Trying not to swallow any of his spit as his tongue explored her molars, she reached behind him to untie the second strap. She shoved her boobs into his face again, feeling him visibly tense up and shudder, and, gently lifting his free hand away from his belt, she pushed it over his head with both hands, the strap inches away.

  “Uncle!” he yelled.

  “Fuck your uncle!” she cried. Lifting up her body, she dropped her crotch in his face, pressing down hard, and with two free hands, tied his second hand to the canoe. His arms were out to the sides like a scene in a porno flick. Waiting for passion. Waiting for her. He looked like the assholes in the front row after a show, way beyond stupid.

  She sat back, admiring her work.

  Tucker kicked his legs.

  “Makes it more intense, huh?”

  “But I . . . wait. Let at least one hand go!”

  “You want me to slap you silly?”

  “Come on, let me go. Uncle! Uncle!”

  “What’s that you said? I didn’t hear nothin’.” She stood up and rocked her hips over his, feeling his arousal grow. She wiggled herself to and fro. “Next game, your rules, okay? This one’s mine.”

  “Oh brother, oh brother, sweet Jesus,” Tucker moaned. “Open my pants, for God’s sake. Open my pants.” His face was slimy with sweat.

  She leaned down onto him, gave his nose a brush with her boob, then sat back.

  “If that’s what you want, big boy,” she said. She scooched farther back on his body, so she was below his waist. She fumbled with his belt, slipped it free at last, and held it in her hands a moment. “Oooh, baby, have you got a surprise for me!”

  “Now. Do me now.”

  “I told you it would be good, Tucker, didn’t I?” She slipped down so she was resting on his knees.

  His face was bright red. “Enough games, you bitch! Blow me!”

  “Okay, sweetheart,” she said.

  “If you quit struggling. Really a turn-on, don’t you think?” She caressed his face. “Shall I go lower?”

  He moaned.

  She leaned over his waist and in one quick motion, pulled off his pants. She slipped the belt free, tied it around his ankles, and knotted it tight.

  His puny member was no bigger than her thumb.

  He beamed, proud.

  She tried not to laugh. She backed up and walked away. “Hey, sweetheart! Come back here!”

  “I’ll be back in a sec. Gotta get protection.”

  “Baby? No, don’t worry,” he pleaded. “I’ve been tested.” She marched to where his canoe was bobbing at the shore. “Honey! No, really. Moll!” his voice rose with each of her steps. His words echoed across the river. “Come back, baby!”

  She put on her life jacket.

  “You bitch! You can’t leave me like this!”

  She grabbed a paddle and slid his canoe into the river. “You scum-sucking whore!”

  That was it.

  She shoved off, climbed into the canoe, and, paddling on alternating sides to make the canoe go straight, headed toward the opposite side of the river.

  In the center she felt the current pull her downstream, but she knew how to angle across.

  Along the way Tucker shouted expletives behind her.

  A hundred yards downstream, she hit land, hard. Her hands trembled too much to hold the paddle. She stepped out onto weak legs, pulled the canoe up onto the bank, and heard something. Something like a person? Come to save her? A white horse? Cavalry? No one had helped her since Dad left, and no one was going to help her now. Get a grip, girl. She stood tall and eyed the shore. Took up the horse posture, from kung fu. Might as well go down swinging.

  It wasn’t Tucker. His lungs were still plenty healthy, and he hadn’t moved. There was something else. Over her head one crow took off, then another, then a whole flock took wing, scaring her like some goddamn scene from Hitchcock’s The Birds, and she went very quiet.

  A few minutes later, she heard something new and strained to listen. It was a twig breaking, a branch breaking, and a far-off sound. Was it a bear? A wolf? Something else?

  She tightened her grip on her paddle and peered across the river.

  A bird landed softly on the beach and hopped on the sand, looking for grubs. The bird flew up and Laura followed it, all the way up into the sky, and saw something behind it. Something on the ridge top. She squinted. It was a silhouette. A person. She squinted to see better.

  Was it E.B? One of Tucker’s friends? Or one of the thugs from the club?

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sunday, afternoon land

  E.B.

  Across the river and high above the water, E.B. scanned the ridges and hills covered with scrub brush and looked for a way back down. He’d been gone far too long. It looked the same in every direction—empty vistas, broken dead grass, and endless brown hills. He walked back and forth, trying to remember the way. He headed down one path, sure he’d come that way, until he was stopped by tall bracken and a steep cliff. He had to get down and soon.

  Nearly tripping over a branch on a narrow game trail, he saw something familiar, the “T” of the carved word “Tevas” from his footprints. Buoyed by the sight, he shot downhill, running faster and faster, and slid to a stop in a grove of cottonwood trees. He could hear the river now. He followed the edge of a cut bank fifteen feet above the water and entered a forest, hearing only birds and the thump of his feet hitting the ground, unsure if he should go upriver or down. He’d go this way for fifteen minutes, then trace his steps. About to turn around, angry with himself for going the wrong way, he heard something new, not the slap of a wave on shore, but a thrashing and crashing. It sounded like an animal.

  He barged through the trees, breaking branches and small limbs, all senses focused on the sounds. Bang, thump, crash, slide. They were close. Near the beach? Or in the rocks beyond?

  “Laura!” he called out.

  “Help!”

  It was a man’s voice!

  “Laura!” He jumped over broken tree limbs. What was a man doing here, yelling for help? And where was Laura? Was she all right? He bounded through bushes and ran to the beach. The river was brown and rushing fast. Jesus, was she in the water?

  “Help! Get me offa this thing!”

  E.B. slid to a stop.

  Forty feet away, on the sand, a filthy and scratched man lay on his back, naked from the waist down, his arms strapped to thwarts in E.B.’s canoe, his ankles tied together with a belt.

  E.B. was quiet a moment. Someone out here for a religious conversion? He’d heard about people like this but had never seen them.

  “Untie me, for Chrissakes,” the man pleaded, his voice hoarse. “A bunch of kids—thought they were teaching me a lesson. Some lesson, huh?”

  If they did this to him, what had they done to her? “You seen a girl?” E.B. came closer.

  “It was a bunch of kids!” the man screamed. “They were trying to kill me. I’ve been like this for hours. Thank you, Jesus.”

  “A blonde? About, I don’t know, this tall?”

  “I
don’t care about a goddamn girl. Untie me, you asshole.”

  “Did they mention their names?” E.B. asked, pulling out his penknife. “Tom? Ed? Maybe a guy named Bob Withers? They’re a rough bunch on probation for breaking into the Feed ’N’ Seed.” He bent down.

  “There were four of them,” the guy spat, “and no one mentioned . . .” He paused. “Ed, yeah, that’s right. They kept calling the tall guy Ed.”

  “Did anyone of them say they’d seen a girl?”

  “Hell no. They were too busy pulling down my pants.”

  E.B. thought a sec. Ed wasn’t particularly tall. “They came by drift boat?”

  He heard a strange noise in the wind. A crow? No, something else. Higher pitched. He strained to hear. It went away. He bent down to untie the first strap from the thwart. “Too bad they did this to you, bud,” he said.

  “I was sitting on the bank,” the man explained, “fishing, sitting real quiet, working on the grandpa sturgeon I’ve been chasing for years, minding my own business, and then all of a sudden, bam, there were five of them, on top of me. Could you hurry it up please? I’m dyin’ out here. You a local?”

  Five? Didn’t he just say four? E.B. hesitated, trying to think it through. Yes, there was a rod, and a fish, so that added up. But where the hell was she? He’d asked her to stay put. He looked across the river. Nothing over there but mud and rushes. He swore he’d heard something.

  “Loosen my arms, they’re killing me. Name’s Tucker, Tucker Claymore. Come on.” He banged his head on the canoe hull. “I’ve been like this for hours. My nards are gone, man.”

  “I don’t know any kids who would do this. All of them attacked you at once? Whatever for?” E.B. looked at a maze of hardened knots at the man’s wrists. “You don’t look like you have a lot of money, if you don’t mind my sayin’.”

  “Shut up and untie me. Like I said, five kids and I didn’t see any goddamn girl,” Tucker spat. “For God’s sake.”

  “Locals—they usually just get drunk and drive off the road.” E.B. was floored. “You’ve seen all those white crosses on the highway?” He bent down and worked another part of the knot free.

  “Please! Just cut me loose. Now. Not after I die.”

  “Must be from Great Falls. Loma kids, they just don’t do this,” E.B. said as he worked the knot. “She was here when I left. Are you sure you didn’t see or hear her?”

  “I was fishing. Sitting by myself, fucking fishing.”

  E.B. scanned the beach, listening. If a bunch of marauding kids were nearby, he needed help. The man’s skin was swollen around the knot. He pulled his knife from its sheath, carefully slipped it under the straps, and hesitated. He couldn’t see any other canoes or other people around.

  The blade flashed in the late afternoon sun.

  E.B. sawed back and forth, spilling blood but not wanting to. He released one of Tucker’s hands. “That should feel better.”

  “Finally! Jesus be praised!” Tucker grabbed E.B.’s arm. “They were out of Loma, man,” he said, his eyes wild. “All crazy, on speed or something. Shit. I don’t know if we can hold them off if they come back.” He paused, took a breath. “Do the other one.” He looked down at his naked body. “My Johnson is cooked. Shit, man. Have a heart.”

  E.B. yanked his arm out of the man’s iron grip. Sweat and specks of blood slimed his fingers. Could Laura have done this? “Did you provoke them?”

  “I didn’t do nothing.” Tucker reached for the knife.

  E.B. pulled back. “Minding your own business, then? Beat you up and leave you naked? Whad’ya do to her?”

  “I told you and told you. I didn’t see any dumb-ass blonde.”

  “You kill her?” E.B. asked, bracing the point of the knife against Tucker’s chest.

  “No! I never hurt her . . .” Tucker sputtered. “She ran when she saw them.”

  “When she saw them? Or before?” E.B. slid the side of the blade across Tucker’s skin. “Where’s the girl, asshole?”

  “They were after her—so she took off!”

  “You’re tied to my canoe,” E.B. said quietly. “So, where’s yours?”

  “That’s how she did it. She stole my boat.”

  “She’s half your size,” E.B. said, pressing down just hard enough on Tucker’s arm. Strong guy; it felt like wresting a steer. “When was this?”

  “Ten minutes, half hour ago, how the fuck am I supposed to know?”

  There was that sound again. A wail. Across the river. E.B. stood up to see better.

  “Eeeeee . . . Beeee!”

  E.B. stared across the river, eyed Tucker at his feet, and looked again. She was waving a bit more frantically now.

  Laura was trying to say something, but E.B. couldn’t understand. He walked to the edge of the water and gestured for her to yell louder.

  Behind him he heard grunting and straining, then a local “Ah!” He turned around and too late saw Tucker fumbling with the belt around his ankles.

  “Going somewhere?” E.B. asked and ran at Tucker, knocking him over.

  E.B. found himself flying and landed on his back. Wind knocked out of him. Doing his best to catch air, he jumped up to a crouch position.

  “Time you worked out, old man,” Tucker said and punched E.B., hard, knocking him flat.

  E.B., stunned and dizzy, scrabbled to his feet. He caught one of Tucker’s arms, twisted it behind his back, and slammed him onto the ground.

  Tucker reached out, grabbed a tree branch, and came back swinging.

  E.B. backed out of Tucker’s reach, but the guy kept at him. E.B. flew behind a tree and heard a thwack as Tucker split the trunk. The branch reverberated in Tucker’s hand. E.B. grabbed the branch, twisted hard, and heard an “Ow!” from the other side. The bastard wouldn’t let go. He spun the limb and augured Tucker to his knees.

  E.B. took a breath and stood over his opponent. “Had enough?”

  Tucker laughed, pivoted, and caught E.B. in the back of the hip with his boot.

  E.B. went down, hurt, tasting blood.

  “Bastard!”

  “She was loving it!” Tucker shouted. “She pleaded for more!”

  E.B. rose, hip and shoulder sore, and swung.

  Tucker fell and E.B. was on top of him, arm cocked, fist clenched. He hit him once on the jaw, but not again. He’d never been a violent man. That would do.

  Tucker’s nose looked broken; blood was running down his chin and onto his neck.

  “She liked it,” Tucker said.

  E.B. slapped him. “You want to go for broke? Just remember, asshole, I castrate steers before breakfast.”

  Tucker flinched. He slipped his tongue over split, swollen lips.

  E.B.’s head and hip hurt as he stood over Tucker and scanned the river. Laura was in the canoe, heading toward them.

  He held out one hand to hold her back. “Wait.”

  “Can you walk?” he asked Tucker.

  Tucker groaned.

  “So much the better.” E.B. pulled him under the arms and dragged him to a cottonwood tree, making sure to go over rocks and boulders and thorns that were in the way.

  E.B. held Tucker to the tree as Laura handed him straps from the canoe. E.B. tied him tight, waist, neck, arms, and feet to the tree. Tucker’s body was scratched; bruises and welts covered his skin. The guy was meaty. E.B. had been lucky this time. Finishing the last knot he looked over at Laura.

  “You all right?”

  She nodded.

  “How did you . . .?”

  “I hope a branch from the cottonwood tree falls and kills him,” she said.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Sunday, late afternoon

  Slaughter River Campground

  CAMPBELL

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Campbell said as he pulled into the campground where he’d left the other canoeists. Francine hurried ahead. Campbell’s knees made cracking sounds as he stood up. The place was a pigsty and wouldn’t be if E.B. had been around. Campbell ran into
camp, hoping he was wrong.

  Goldfish crackers crunched under his feet as he circled the small clearing where empty Triscuit boxes, cookie bags, and used soda cans lay scattered all over the ground. Since his heart attack a year ago, he was supposed to exercise with moderation, Dr. Jensen had said. Yeah, right. Today he’d done a year’s worth. His wet clothes clung to him like a shroud.

  Five minutes later he’d searched the whole place and found Kris, Jane, Alice, and Nia sitting on a bluff, tossing little twigs into a crackling fire. Francine, perched on a log nearby, had her nose deep into one of Grandpa’s philosophy books. She’d settled in fast. His girl—still snarky, still wonderful. And alive, thank God. That snake had been a big one.

  Beyond them, nothing but empty plains, barren hills, a few shrubs, and an outhouse with a rickety door hanging from its hinges.

  “Well, waddaya know, the prodigal son returns.” Jane gave a little snort.

  “Anyone seen E.B. and Laura?” Campbell asked, already knowing the answer.

  “If everyone had kept together like we were supposed to, we wouldn’t be in this mess,” Nia spat. “And the answer is no.”

  “Seen anyone else?” Campbell caught his breath. “BLM rangers? Other canoeists? Anyone with a drift boat?”

  “What do you think, we’re blind?” Nia asked.

  Campbell checked with Francine, who resisted a giggle. “No one here but us chickens, and we’re starving.” Alice tossed her Sprite can into the fire. “Glad it wasn’t me you left back there. I bet they drowned.”

  “E.B.’s a good strong swimmer, so I doubt that, Alice,” Campbell said. “No need to worry.” He was worrying enough for all of them.

  “You were gone for hours.” Alice flicked back her long black hair. “We thought you’d taken ill.”

  “On a trip like this? Living on freeze-dried food? Hard to do,” Campbell answered. “I told you I’d be back and here I am.”

  “But you left them,” Nia argued. “And us.”

  Campbell wrenched his mouth into a smile. E.B. and Laura should be setting up camp now, if they were all right. That “if” was a big one. He tried to remember where he’d packed the tents.