Wicked River

by Jenny Milchman

  They were cowed, Natalie realized. Scared in a whole new way from before. Now they knew what Kurt was capable of.

  They spied the clearing and the huts.

  “Do you still have water left?” Kurt asked once they’d arrived. “We’ll want some with our lunch.”

  Natalie gave a single nod.

  Kurt clasped his hands together, approval pervading his face as light does a chapel. “Good girl. You’re learning to make resources last. How I loathe the idea of turning on a tap. The sheer waste! It’s appalling. Why don’t you fetch the jug I gave you from your hut?”

  Natalie hung back to wait for Doug, but Kurt gave her a nudge with one of his plank-like hands. “Doug can stay here with me, don’t you think? Share a little of the work? Those fires don’t build themselves, you know.”

  The rest of the day proceeded in the same manner, Kurt never giving them one second alone. He demonstrated how to fashion cord out of vines, then set Natalie and Doug to work while he scoured the forest floor for firewood, keeping to a tight radius around them. Natalie and Doug helped with chores, going along with the schedule Kurt laid out. Kurt even turned a trip to the thicket of trees into a joint excursion, pointing out the perfect slope from which to relieve oneself. Natalie hardly noticed the invasion of privacy. She was focused on nightfall and the earliest moment she and Doug might be allowed to declare bedtime. At last, the sun began to droop in the sky, a mellow blotch of peach and gold over the endless layering of mountains.

  Natalie yawned broadly.

  Doug gave her a look that appeared loving and relaxed. “Tired?”

  She nodded.

  Doug turned toward Kurt. “Guess we’d better pack it in.”

  “I suppose so,” he said.

  A pause. “Thanks for dinner,” Doug added. “That venison soup was great.”

  “Glad you enjoyed it.”

  Kurt made no move to rise from the campfire, so Natalie and Doug stood up, at which point Kurt got to his feet, and they all shifted awkwardly around each other. They bid good night at the huts, Doug ducking inside while Natalie turned to offer a final wave.

  She waited until Kurt strode into his own dwelling before entering theirs and going to lie down. Buried within the folds of the sleeping bag, she and Doug began to talk, fast and low.

  “Today was a warning,” Doug said. “Kurt could’ve shown us where he forages for greens, he could’ve guided us to the best swimming hole, or taken us to the fucking berry patch. Instead he leads our parade straight to Trader Cannibal’s.”

  “Stop,” Natalie said, stone faced, feeling her stomach lurch again. “Don’t even joke about it. That poor woman, Terry, did he say her name was—”

  Doug drew her into an embrace, quietly stroking her arm. “I know,” he said. “It’s really sick. What kind of person is capable of something like that?”

  Tears slid down Natalie’s cheeks like molten lava. “I thought Kurt saved us.”

  “What else were we supposed to think?”

  Natalie gave a helpless shrug.

  “We need to consider that machete,” Doug went on in a whisper. “I didn’t realize Kurt had a weapon like that. It changes things.”

  Natalie felt a shiver jolt her, sudden as an electric shock.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Doug said. “Now.”

  “Not without water,” she whispered back. “We know where that leads.”

  “We’ll take the jug,” Doug said. “It’s almost full. We’ll have to ration.”

  Natalie shook her head. “That won’t be anywhere near enough. We need the iodine tabs. And I bet Kurt has more protein bars. Think how helpful they’ll be.” She paused. “It’s easy to imagine setting off when our bellies are full of deer and chipmunk.”

  Doug gave a short laugh. “You said you had an idea. To get into Kurt’s hut.”

  Natalie nodded, then shifted to face him. “I want you to open the cut on my face.”

  • • •

  Doug looked unsure whether to laugh again or not.

  “I mean it,” Natalie said. “I was thinking about how Kurt took care of me. Not just me… There were some pretty unpleasant tasks he had to attend to while you were out cold too. He seems to get something out of…ministering to people.”

  Doug flinched, although Natalie took a certain savage enjoyment from the thought of Kurt having to clean up her husband’s bodily fluids.

  “Anyway,” she said, “if we can give him something to do, he’ll be occupied for a while. You’ll have a few minutes to grab some supplies. Then we slip out tomorrow night while Kurt is asleep in his hut.”

  “No,” Doug said flatly. “I won’t do that.”

  Natalie felt a flash of insistence. “Look, this is going to require something real. Authentic. Kurt’s too smart not to see through a dodge. And what I’m suggesting is big, but not life-threatening, or even dangerous really. Just…painful.” She winced. “I’ll do it myself if I have to. But you’ll be able to see what you’re doing.” She threaded her fingers through Doug’s. “Please, honey,” she said. “Do this for me. Do it for us.”

  “But your cut’s healing,” Doug whispered. The breath he let out sounded savage, like something that was being ripped apart. “Your beautiful face. How did I let this happen to your beautiful face?”

  Natalie extricated herself from her husband’s hold. “Don’t say that,” she hissed. “Don’t even think it. You didn’t do this. Even if Craig’s trouble started us out along a bad path, there was no way you could’ve known where it would lead.”

  In the murky darkness, Doug’s eyes gripped Natalie’s. Their mouths met, salty and hot. For a moment, there was no divide between them.

  Then the wall of the hut shook and Kurt entered, sleeping bag draped around his shoulders like a king’s stole. “Hey, you two. Still awake?”

  It took effort for Natalie to swallow.

  Doug didn’t speak.

  “Nights are getting chilly already,” Kurt said. “I know you’re newlyweds and all, but it makes sense for us to bunk in together for the duration. Share the body heat.”

  Kurt couldn’t have eavesdropped on them. They’d been talking quietly, and there was space between where she and Doug lay and the wall connected to the other hut. No, Natalie thought, with a sudden stab of conviction. Kurt hadn’t needed to overhear their plans. Because he had sensed them.

  She stood up, helping Doug pull their sleeping bag over to make room for three. She settled down beside her husband, moving as close to him as possible, although she could still smell Kurt’s sharp, pine scent, hear the intake of his breaths.

  She didn’t think she would sleep, but she must have.

  The next thing she became aware of was Doug on his knees, leaning down to peer at her in the tarry, starless night. He laid his hand against Natalie’s cheek, probing gently.

  Natalie sucked in air. She bore down, bracing herself, but when Doug at last began to tug, his touch was so tender that Natalie didn’t even register it as pain.

  Scream, Doug mouthed at her, the word as gentle as a caress.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Natalie felt blood flowing, a warm, red waterfall down her cheek, and leapt to her feet. She didn’t have to fake her bleat of distress.

  Kurt sat bolt upright in his sleeping bag, a wild-eyed expression emblazoned on his face. When he caught sight of Natalie, some of the flames died down in his eyes.

  “Nat?” Doug said, a blowsy, dazed mutter worthy of an Oscar. “Whatsa matter?”

  “I must’ve rolled over”—Natalie bent in half, and a ruby bauble of blood struck the ground—“in my sleep. Onto a stick or a rock—” A clutch in her throat gave way to a sob.

  Kurt jumped up, his gaze homing in on Natalie through the darkness. Then he leaned over Doug, pulling him upright in one swift move. “Get going,” h
e said, contempt coating his tone. “Can’t you see your wife is hurt? The first aid kit is in the wooden crate next door.”

  Despite the pain pulsing in Natalie’s face, a sense of hope sparked inside her. This couldn’t have worked out better if all their parts had been scripted. She’d assumed Kurt would go for the first aid kit, and Doug would have to slip out undetected while Kurt started to tend to her. This way, Doug could grab the supplies during his assigned trip.

  Kurt walked over to Natalie to examine her cheek, leaning so close in the dark that she could feel the flutter of his lashes. He dabbed at the wound with a length of cloth torn from his shirt. The newly opened skin stung as if submerged in salt water.

  “You know, Natalie, it isn’t entirely a bad thing that this happened,” Kurt said. “Mother Nature is a clumsy healer, and when your cut closed in the wild, it took the path of least resistance, lopsided and irregular.”

  Natalie licked her lips, tasting iron and salt.

  Kurt glanced at the doorway.

  How long had Doug been gone? Pain was distorting Natalie’s sense of time. She reached for words. “So you think you can treat it?”

  Another blotting with the strip of cloth, another look toward the opening.

  “It needs stitches, doesn’t it?” Natalie asked.

  Kurt balled up the cloth in his fist and strode off.

  Natalie ran after him.

  They ducked outside into the night. Chilly air enrobed them, the sky an ashy, lightless mix of grays.

  Doug was nowhere to be seen.

  Six or seven long strides, and Kurt would be at the entrance to his hut.

  “Doug!” Natalie called out. With any luck, Kurt would think pain responsible for the frantic warble in her warning. “What’s taking so long?”

  Kurt took a step into his dwelling, then came out suddenly, walking backward, one arm braced over his eyes.

  Doug emerged, aiming the bright beam of a flashlight right at Kurt’s face. “Artificial light,” he exclaimed. “Haven’t seen this in a while.” He flicked off the switch and extended the plastic tube toward Kurt. “I thought this might help with the surgery.” He turned to Natalie. “You all right, honey? That cut looks painful.”

  Kurt regarded Doug levelly.

  Doug lifted the red kit he held in his other hand. “Took a while to find. Hopefully it has everything you need.”

  Without a word, Kurt led their trio back inside.

  He was a patient physician, and though the procedure, sans any sort of numbing agent, was agonizing, Natalie tolerated each meticulous stitch, imagining all the things Doug might have been able to stuff into his pockets.

  “I wish I had a mirror,” Kurt said with delight once he’d finished. “I’ve never seen such an even row of stitches.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any Advil in that kit?” Natalie asked weakly.

  Kurt frowned. “Unfortunately, those are long gone,” he said. “But I do know a bark whose aspirin-like properties you won’t believe till you’ve chewed some. I’ll show you where it grows once the sun comes up.”

  Doug held out his hand, an easy grin on his face. “I don’t think we’ll have to wait that long to offer my wife a little relief.”

  Kurt raised his eyebrows.

  A tiny clay receptacle, smaller than the cup they all drank from, sat on Doug’s palm. It was filled with what looked like crushed, gray-green leaves.

  Natalie frowned. Pot? Had that hiker—Terry—brought a stash into the woods?

  Kurt’s face was expressionless.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” Doug said. “It’s the stuff you use for tea. That has a relaxing effect.”

  “Scott’s Dash,” Kurt said evenly. “That will indeed help.”

  “Let’s all have some,” Doug proposed. “I could use a little medicinal assistance getting back to sleep myself.”

  Kurt took the cup. “Just have to start a fire,” he said, maneuvering toward the exit.

  Understanding and relief began to bloom inside Natalie. And it wasn’t due to the prospect of the pain-alleviating tea. Because hadn’t Kurt said that a cupful of this stuff knocked him out cold? If so, then Natalie and Doug wouldn’t have to wait another day to escape. Their imminent departure roared at her like a train.

  They would leave as soon as Kurt dropped off to sleep.

  • • •

  The three of them sat on flat stones around the fire. Kurt boiled water in a dented pot, sprinkling leaves across its surface for a makeshift kettle.

  “Steep it strong,” Doug suggested.

  The flames crackled.

  Careful, honey, Natalie thought. It wouldn’t do to forget how smart Kurt was, especially not when they were so close to getting out.

  “I need the sleep,” Doug explained as if he had heard her. “That was a bit of a rude awakening—literally. Although…” He got onto his knees, illumination from the fire permitting him to study Natalie’s face. “I have to say that your technique is superb, Kurt. Those stitches may not even leave a scar.”

  Natalie hardly felt the injury, how tightly her skin was stretched to accommodate the threading. Her nerves jangled, adrenaline placing her on a cliff’s edge.

  Kurt handed around a trio of cups, drinking from his own before anyone else could take a sip. The rim didn’t entirely conceal a smile on his mouth.

  “Our own cups,” Natalie said faintly.

  Kurt lowered his. “I put the finishing touches on them tonight. After you two fell asleep.”

  Cold air shot through Natalie. That meant that Kurt had been awake—walking around—while she and Doug were discussing their next move.

  But Kurt’s expression looked mild as he poured himself more tea.

  Natalie took a sip of hers, letting it dribble back into the cup without swallowing. The last thing she needed tonight was to be drugged. She tilted the contents of her cup onto the ground when Kurt got up to tend to the fire. Then she braced her hands behind her waist, leaning back to stare at the sky. The moon had come out, and a million stars pierced the firmament, sharp as bits of glass.

  “You know, it’s really wonderful,” Kurt said, sitting back down.

  Doug gave him a curious look.

  “How you two seem to have worked things out.”

  Natalie lowered her face to her cup without drinking.

  She had grown accustomed to Kurt’s tactics by now, how he liked to come up from behind with something no one was prepared for. But Doug looked as if he were warding off a blow. He reached for Natalie’s hand, and she clasped it.

  “I mean, that was quite the betrayal, wasn’t it?” Kurt went on. “I imagine most marriages wouldn’t survive. Particularly not when something like that takes place right at the start of your lives together.”

  Doug turned toward Natalie in the dark, and she looked away, ashamed. What was he going to say? Any amount of reproach at the way she’d revealed their secrets to a stranger—a madman—would be justified. You told him? she heard her husband ask.

  Instead, the wariness slid off Doug’s face. When he spoke, his voice hitched, but he faced Kurt squarely. “I learned something from it. About being honest with your spouse, even when it comes to the ugly parts. Maybe that’s why we could get past it.”

  Natalie tightened her grip on Doug’s hand. A single tear slipped down her cheek, stinging as it caught in the rigging that Kurt had assembled.

  “Have you ever been married, Kurt?” Doug asked.

  But Kurt seemed to have lost interest in the subject. He gave a yawn, the hinges of his jaw cracking. “I told you Scott’s Dash goes to work on me. You two must be getting sleepy yourselves.” He stood up, kicking ash over the fire before turning toward the huts.

  Natalie and Doug lay utterly still beside their sleeping bag instead of inside it, ensuring there’d be no rustl
e of fabric when they stood up. Barely allowing themselves to breathe until Kurt began to snore: soft, ruffled expulsions of air that could be heard distinctly from the other side of the hut. Early light had just begun to filter into the structure when Doug sat upright, patting the pockets of his shorts for one final check.

  He and Natalie rose silently, looking back once to make sure Kurt slept on.

  Then they tiptoed outside into the barely broken dawn.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  A full day’s search of the area upriver from Crosch Pond yielded no signs of the couple. But Tim was up the next morning before the sun had cracked the horizon—in his office and surrounded by the topo maps he’d all but memorized before catching a few short hours of shut-eye—when a call came in that a body had been found.

  “Male,” Phil Wilbur said. Wilbur was the lead guy in the Search and Rescue office in Gumption, New York, and he’d been in intermittent contact—signal a problem as always—with Steve and Brad since they’d left to paddle upstream. “Looks about the right age for our guy.”

  Couple of easy solves this week, Tim thought. First the Scouts, now the honeymooners. How he wished the second case could’ve gone like the first. Douglas and Natalie Larson were two people at the start of their lives together—or at least they had been. They deserved better than this.

  “Anything as far as the wife?” he asked.

  “No sign of her yet,” Wilbur replied. “If my boys don’t find one, what’s the chance of getting a dog into those woods?”

  A flintlike flicker lit inside Tim despite the reference to HRDs—animals trained in the detection of human remains. Maybe the wife had survived. “I’ll put K-9 on alert.” He paused. “You got a cause of death?”

  “My boys tried to send a photo,” Wilbur replied. “Not enough bandwidth. They’re breaking down camp now, then they’ll resend. They got lucky, were sleeping real close. Stumbled over this guy practically as soon as they had light.”

  “Right,” Tim said, trying to reconcile the concept of luck with a man being dead less than two weeks after he’d gotten married.