Sprawled out at Doug’s feet, his outdoor gear accounting for those bright wings of color, like a tropical bird’s plumage, lay the body of a man.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Natalie watched her husband stumble backward, hand clapped over his mouth to stifle that awful scream. It was easier to look at Doug than at the discovery he had made on the forest floor. Although the sight of her husband in such duress, weakened and vulnerable, was almost as shocking as the vision of the body.
Was Doug still feeling the effects of the alcohol? His walk was more of a stagger, following an unclear line that barely skirted branches and boulders. While for Natalie, the man lying on the ground had sliced as cleanly as a scalpel through any lingering buzz, rendering her sober as a five-year-old girl.
“Doug!” She let out a cry. “Watch out for that tree—”
But her husband wasn’t watching out, reeling backward as if incapable of any form of directed action, so the trunk caught him in the spine with an audible thud and sent him sliding to the ground.
“Doug!” Natalie cried again, and ran to her husband.
He got to his feet, and they both turned to focus on the fallen figure. All was soundless: not a rustle of leaf, nor whisper of air, nor even the tread of an animal. There was an absence of any breeze or stirring through the trees, and the river was far enough away that its rush was muted entirely.
“He’s dead, right?” Natalie asked. “Not just hurt? Or unconscious?”
Doug extended one hand wordlessly. Night had finally begun to descend in earnest, but still, Natalie could see what her husband was pointing to.
A hole on the man’s forehead, open and gaping, like a single tarnished coin.
Doug let out another strangled cry, and this time, Natalie couldn’t stand it. She hurled herself forward, hissing, “Stop that!” What a dreadful sound, like a child who couldn’t comprehend what it meant to be hurt. “Oh, honey, it’s horrible, I know, but we’ll figure out what to do.”
The shadings of a plan, their next several steps, began to occur to her. They would hike out double time. Darkness fell late this time of year, which meant they should be able to make the road by the following evening. Their flashlights would pick up blue trail markers until the sun rose. It wasn’t as if they could spend another night in these woods. Then they would stop the first person they saw, go into the first home or business they came to, call the police and the Forest Rangers, or whoever Doug had said was in charge.
Neither of them had touched the body. That was good. Although it struck Natalie that maybe they should check for a pulse, hole in this poor man’s head notwithstanding. They had a first aid kit; some type of rudimentary treatment might not be beyond them.
Stupid, she told herself. He hasn’t budged an inch since you found him. His chest is motionless, and he isn’t even bleeding.
She began to rise, pulling at Doug’s hand. “Come on.”
Time enough later to examine the shards of their honeymoon. Once they had procured help. She’d watched enough TV to know that they shouldn’t stomp around here, destroying evidence. The fresher the crime scene, the greater the likelihood of capturing the killer. She and Doug couldn’t help this man, but at least they could give the police a chance at tracking down whoever had murdered him.
“Come on,” she said again, impatience creeping up on her. Her husband continued to sit so stilly. If he didn’t snap to pretty soon, Natalie was going to have to go on alone, send back aid both for her husband and the dead man. But how could she possibly do that? She couldn’t even follow a trail map. “We have to get out of here.”
At last, Doug began to struggle to his feet.
“We came from that way,” Natalie said, hands on Doug’s broad shoulders, trying to turn him. “Let’s go get our packs.”
Doug took a step in the direction she indicated, then stopped. The silence was destroyed by a sound as sudden as a stick of dynamite exploding, which after a moment resolved into a crackle and crunch of leaves.
Footsteps, but cautious ones, each separated by a pause, their maker clearly trying to muffle noise, conceal his own trace.
Too deliberate for an animal, some creature of the woods.
Thoughts arrowed through Natalie’s head.
This wasn’t anybody they could turn to for help.
How could they have been so slow and stupid? Shock? Right until this very second, Natalie hadn’t considered the person who had done this. And now it was too late. He had come back, needing to do something with the body, make sure the man was actually dead—or worse, because he’d found evidence of Natalie and Doug’s presence, their tent or diminished dinner, and intended to do away with them too.
Natalie began pushing at her husband’s back, forcing him into motion, making both of them head in a direction, any one at all, so long as it took them away from the pendulum beat of those slow, dread footfalls.
And then the pace of the steps changed.
Whoever had come was no longer moving with care.
He must’ve figured out that they heard him, and he started to give chase.
“Doug!” Natalie cried, the one word a claw in her throat, desperate and sharp.
She saw a glimmer in the trees, something metallic, unnatural amidst the brown-green woods. The barrel of a gun, thick as a man’s finger.
Sighting on them, beginning to take aim.
Seizing Natalie’s hand, her husband broke through a barricade of branches and finally started to run.
• • •
They ran as if catapulted from a slingshot, not taking care to avoid whipping brush or lashing twigs, let alone able to avoid making noise. Sticks split underfoot; leaves were torn off their perches with a sound like ripping skin. Shorts and T-shirts rendered their bare limbs vulnerable, exposed, yet Natalie and Doug raced on, impervious. They forged a weaving, twisting path, seeking only to leave behind the man with his gun.
A jutting branch sliced Natalie’s cheek, and she cried out.
Doug jerked her arm hard enough that she pitched forward; he caught her and she righted. They ran on without faltering. Blood trickled from the wound on Natalie’s face—more than a trickle maybe—but she couldn’t think about that right now, how much blood there was, the warm, salty gulp of it.
She spat red and pushed on.
Doug edged in front of her so that he could take the brunt of the weapons of the woods, Natalie following the path that he broke. She ducked beneath branches that her shorter height rendered deadly, leaping over debris that Doug kicked aside. They kept going until their sprinting pace finally began to wane, hearts clopping like a herd of horses in their chests, at last settling into a jog, intent on putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the man who had infiltrated these woods.
A sudden wedge of rock loomed up, and Doug hoisted Natalie into his arms, swinging her around the wall of stone. He dropped onto the ground, pulling Natalie down as well. Their breaths came in loud, rattling gasps; they would be overheard if the man were anywhere nearby.
Doug pressed a finger to his lips, getting onto his knees and crawling forward to check, while Natalie rested for a moment. She placed her face against the rock, momentarily forgetting her injury. The rough surface abraded her flesh; it was as if she’d lain down on a wasps’ nest. Natalie managed not to scream, although tears rolled helplessly down her cheeks in a scorpion sting of fire.
I think we lost him, Doug mouthed, glancing back at her.
Natalie’s balled fists began to loosen.
Doug rose.
The woods appeared to be still.
Natalie stood up too, checking out their surroundings, searching for any indications that they had been tracked. Another set of equally fierce breaths. The shadow of a limb that belonged to a human. Footfalls on the forest floor.
Their own trail was already bei
ng lost to the detritus they’d stirred up, leaves shifting in a light breeze, covering their tracks.
Violet light penetrated the trees, the last, lingering remains of the day. Then darkness lifted its shoulders, blotting out the sky and woods until Natalie could hardly discern Doug’s form beside her, let alone anybody who might have followed them, especially if he was keeping himself hidden. At last the stars began to wink on, and a manic smile of moon appeared in the sky.
No man. No one here at all besides the two of them.
“We lost him,” Doug said again, a little louder this time.
Natalie inhaled raggedly, taking another look around. “That’s not all we lost,” she said, also low, but not because she feared anybody overhearing.
The reality of their situation had stunned her into shock, damped her voice.
They had no idea where they were. Their twisting, turning journey had taken them miles away from their original location. Spurred only by panic, their rash, heedless tracks would be lost to the night, and everything looked different by daylight anyway. The distance they had just covered would be impossible to re-create.
Understanding settled over Natalie like a slow, strangling net.
They were on their own in the wilderness now. Without any of their belongings.
No water, food, maps, or gear.
Nothing but a memory of the trail that was to have gotten them home.
Part Two
Found
Chapter Twenty-Three
They used the huge rock in lieu of a tent, lowering themselves down beside it for the night. Doug wrapped his arms around Natalie; she leaned the good side of her face against him, and felt the machine-gun fire of her husband’s heart start to settle down.
“He wasn’t just a hiker who got into trouble,” Natalie said after a moment. Inching up to the reality, bit by bit, so that it couldn’t overtake her. “Or a paddler like us.”
“No,” Doug said, so quietly she could hardly hear him.
“He was shot,” Natalie went on. “Intentionally murdered. By that man—the one who chased us.”
This time, Doug didn’t respond.
But Natalie couldn’t stop herself from vocalizing the slow, steady crawl of this catastrophe. “Why would somebody deliberately kill a man way out here?” The answer was obvious—wilderness as vast as this made an excellent place to hide a body—although all Doug said was, “I don’t know,” in a stilted, wooden tone.
“I guess someone might bring a gun into the woods for protection,” Natalie continued. “Or to hunt.” But you didn’t hunt with a handgun. “Maybe they were friends who came to blows?”
“I don’t know!” Doug said, and now his voice seemed ready to split.
Natalie turned her face to look at him—the simple motion caused nearly unbearable pain—but then questions swept her up again. “A fight that bad though, out here in nature? It’s supposed to be so peaceful. Where people come to get away.”
For just a second, an image of that town filled her head, a welcome blotting out of this whole disaster. Wedeskyull. It had been so pretty. So picturesque. If only they could be back there now, before they had ever started out.
Doug uttered a hoarse laugh, the barking of a seal. “Like the Garden of Eden.”
Natalie couldn’t tell if he was agreeing with her—or scoffing at her.
“What’s savage out here isn’t the land, Nat,” Doug said. “It’s what people do to each other in it. That’s always been true. Wherever you happen to be.”
Her husband might not have meant the words to reassure her, but somehow they did. Natalie shaped her body to fit Doug’s sloping form, and though she didn’t expect to sleep, the sun was shining by the time she next opened her eyes.
Doug must have shifted her while she was out cold, for she was alone behind the rock. She got to her feet so abruptly she stumbled, light-headed and stiff from sleeping that hard. Doug stood a little ways off, shading his eyes as he took a look around.
He became aware that she had wakened, and turned. His face looked ravaged, his eyes dull with disbelief. A whole night hadn’t been sufficient for him to make the transition. From blissful honeymoon to guns, to murder.
To the fact of them being lost.
He began to walk back toward her.
“Okay,” Natalie said, the word gummy and thick on her tongue. She licked her lips, then tried again. “Let’s figure out what we’re going to do.”
They took stock of their situation, talking in brief spurts, voicing hesitant ideas, while resting on the ground with the sun circling overhead. They hadn’t just slept, but slept late. Reaching the road by nightfall would’ve been impossible given the hour, even if they had known where to go. Food wasn’t a problem—yet—but even one full day without water would be. And the normal degree of thirst created by such conditions would be worsened by the alcohol in their systems.
“We came from that way,” Doug said, pointing. “I’m 100 percent sure that this rock was in front of us. We nearly ran straight into it.”
“I remember too,” Natalie agreed. “But you’re not suggesting we just head in the opposite direction, are you? We’ll lose our bearings within a few yards.”
Doug was looking at her funny.
“What’s wrong?” Natalie raised her hand haltingly. “My cheek? Is it bad?”
She didn’t dare touch the spot. The skin felt tight and sore, but at least it had crusted over. There was no more blood, aside from the Jackson Pollock scatter of drops that stained her shirt, and would, she supposed, till they had access again to that first-world luxury of laundry.
Doug looked down at his lap. His bare shins were skinned and abraded, the effects of last night’s barreling run. “It just needs time to heal,” he said at last.
His attempt at reassurance was more damning than if he’d expressed revulsion or squeamishness. Natalie felt the bite of tears behind her eyes, and the pain in her cheek flared anew. She struggled to change the subject. “If you’re lost in the woods, you’re supposed to stay in one place—”
“Only if there’s a chance of someone coming along,” Doug interrupted.
It was the same kind of logical thinking he had applied when suggesting they hike out of the woods instead of paddle. Except now, instead of using the calm, patient tone that had ultimately convinced Natalie, Doug’s voice grazed hysteria. He wouldn’t make eye contact, kept casting his gaze around.
Rather than causing Natalie to feel vulnerable and alone, Doug’s fear actually had the opposite effect: coalescing in her a will to act and a slow, steady clarity of vision. They would stay put, she decided, conserving energy and resources. Luckily, they were starting out well-nourished and healthy, had plenty in the bank from which to draw.
“Natalie,” Doug said in a high, teetering tone. “Come see what I was looking at before you woke up.” He got to his feet, then extended a hand.
Natalie grasped it.
They left the protection of the rock to wend a path through the leaves, which crisped and crackled underfoot. Natalie turned back a few times, keeping the rock in sight, although Doug took no such pains.
She frowned. You were supposed to stay in place if you got lost. Every Boy Scout knew that. Even wandering this far broke the rule.
The earth began to curve in front of them, and then the whole of the wide, sunny sky appeared, a silvery yellow vista. At least the weather was holding, a lucky break for them.
Luck, she thought, not for the first time on this trip.
“Careful,” Doug warned. “It’s a steep drop.”
“What did you want me to see?” Natalie asked.
He walked her forward a few more steps.
“This,” Doug said, and pointed.
It appeared as if the whole of the Adirondack Park opened up before them, the view unveiling itself as they sta
red. Natalie had no idea what six million acres amounted to, but she would’ve sworn that every one of them was here on display. The spot Doug had led her to allowed a vista of miles. It looked as if the rest of the world had been eliminated, wiped neutron bomb clean, and replaced by wilderness. No people, or cities, or towns, or buildings, or cars. No swipe of road cut between trees. Not a single cell tower nor an electric wire.
No sign that civilization had ever existed at all.
Hunched mountains showed their backs to the sky, so far off they might as well have been on the moon. They continued on in concentric, overlapping arcs, an array endless enough to be dizzying. Before them was an aerial sweep of green, more shades than a crayon box held, broken only by the occasional shock of premature scarlet or gold. The view so unending, it tired the eyes. Spread out on three sides, like a tufted cushion big enough for God and all in His heavens, with the coming season predicted in the tableau. By the millions, these trees were going to give themselves over to color, before foliage abandoned them altogether, along with all heat from this part of the world.
The sight was hideous in its beauty, in what it meant for them.
Natalie turned to Doug, her eyes rounding with fear.
“The likelihood of anyone finding this spot is virtually nil,” Doug said, her horror captured by his tone. “We don’t stand a chance if we stay here, Nat. Not a chance.”
“Okay,” Natalie said, taking a step back from the ledge. “Okay.” She began picking at the flecks of blood on her shirt, sending up a fine, red spray of grit. “What do you think we should do instead then?”
Doug walked a few paces off. “We have to find that trail. It’s the only way.”
The woods closed in on them from behind, and Natalie swallowed, or tried to, her throat pasty, as she turned toward the trees. Dark and inscrutable, hundreds of them, thousands, all undifferentiated, and every inch of forest floor identical too.
She felt fear begin to choke her. “A day,” she got out. “Let’s give it one day. If nobody comes along, then we’ll decide what to do.”
Wicked River Page 12
