Wicked River

by Jenny Milchman

  He couldn’t lose them.

  They must have kept turning around to brush their footsteps away or else swept debris over them. Perhaps Kurt wasn’t following the same course as Doug and Natalie had, but when he looked left and right, he could find no indication of another path.

  Then he saw something, and relief flooded his body, so great that his knees buckled. There appeared to be a stain on the ground. But how recently had it gotten there, and was it human or animal in nature? In these woods, carnage was routine, due to his traps. Kurt seldom took a stroll without finding evidence of some death or slaughter.

  He spotted another wetter, slightly redder patch of brown against the russet leaves on the forest floor, and moved to examine it. That was new, fresh. And not far off lay a long, cleared swath of earth. As if something—or someone—had been dragged along.

  But he could also hear the furious laughter of the creek now. His heart began clip-clopping, a wild horse inside his chest, for the creek spelled escape. The misty wash of vapor appeared in the air, chilling Kurt, while his thoughts sped up like an overwound watch. He forced himself to pause and take a good look around, leveling out his breathing. Sweat, potent and slick, began to dry beneath his armpits.

  A kingly sense of confidence reigned inside him again.

  He was going to locate his quarry; Kurt knew that as definitively as he knew his own needs and motivations. They couldn’t have gotten far from here yet. He willed himself to contemplate the various potential outcomes, each one a morsel to savor. By now, Natalie and Doug would imagine they had made it. It’d be King Kurt, there to show them the error of their ways, while having the distinct pleasure of observing how it felt to fall from a pinnacle of desperation and hope.

  He came to a bank of rocks as wide as a city block, taller in some spots than the surrounding trees. A barrier too immense to bypass, especially for anyone injured. There was nobody here, though, dead or alive. It was as if the couple had been airlifted out.

  Kurt cast his gaze up to the sky, as if a helicopter might be hovering there.

  Nobody searching was likely to have happened upon this location; it was but one prick in an infinite pincushion. And no part of the forest appeared to be disturbed.

  If something had saved Doug and Natalie, it had been the hand of God.

  A voice Kurt scarcely recognized as his own emitted a long, warbling howl of sheer deprivation and rage. He began to strike his leg with his fist repeatedly, the stony muscles in his thigh no match for the titanium knobs of his knuckles, until he roared with pain. Kurt’s eyes blurred for a reason he couldn’t understand. He fell to his knees on the padded forest floor, fingers laced in a position of prayer.

  Squinting till his vision bleared, still on all fours, Kurt crawled frantically forward, headed for the enormous wall of rock. It was pockmarked and divided by crevices.

  He knew what must have happened.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  “Hungry?” Mia’s mom asked after Mia had made her request to go down to the café and market. “There’s still some noodles. I put them in the fridge.”

  Mia made her tone casual. “How about if I got us some dessert? And drinks?”

  “Good idea.” Her mom handed Mia a daypack, heavy because it had the thing you drank water from inside it, the contraption Mia had found in the box back in her room. “Load up whatever you get in here. I’d like a Diet Snapple if they have one.” Her mom reached for her purse and began to poke around.

  Mia’s dad stopped her. “They’re not letting us pay.”

  Mia’s mom raised her brows at that, and Mia left them to their conversation, slipping out the door and onto the spiral staircase.

  The first floor smelled of coffee and other tempting treats. Mia ordered one of those sweet, frothy blends so unlike her mother’s morning brew, while examining the baked goods to keep from being bored. She’d left her phone upstairs and didn’t have anything to do. As she waited for her drink, Mia looked around for Officer Bishop. She spotted her standing in a corner of the café, talking on her own phone.

  Mia edged closer, letting a group of old men with fishing poles block her from sight.

  “Chief doesn’t think they’re at Laughy,” Officer Bishop said.

  Laffee? Laughing? Mia wasn’t sure. But it was more information than either of her parents had gotten so far. She bent over to study a case of energy bars.

  “He thinks they might’ve wound up in Turtle Ridge,” Officer Bishop said. A long silence followed. Then, “Yup. That’s the spot. She vanished right off the trail.”

  It had to be Aunt Nat the policewoman was talking about. How many people could be lost up here right now?

  But then Officer Bishop said, “About a year ago.”

  “Young lady?” The man behind the counter handed Mia an overflowing drink, wiping his hands on his apron. They left behind smudges of chocolate. “Want a couple of those granola bars you’ve been eyeing? Go on, take as many as you like.”

  Mia thanked him, stuffing a fistful of bars into the pack. It was true what they said—people were nicer outside the city. Or maybe everyone just felt sorry for Mia and her family.

  She went over to one of the comfy couches and sat down. The other couch was occupied by two girls, slouched over and apparently asleep. Mia wished again for her phone, although at least there were maps and guidebooks to look at here. She grabbed a stack of pamphlets, sipping at the foam on her drink as she flipped through pages. One of the brochures had a photograph of a beautiful, lonesome wilderness on the cover, all towering trees and spattering waterfalls. It was called Turtle Ridge.

  The girls woke up at the same time, blinking and smiling in Mia’s direction.

  “Whoa,” one of them said, indicating the brochure. “Turtle Ridge.”

  “You know it?” Mia asked casually.

  “Who doesn’t?” said the girl.

  Her friend agreed. “Best backpacking around.”

  “That where you’re headed, little sister?” asked the first girl.

  Mia almost laughed, then stopped herself. Turtle Ridge was where the police chief thought Aunt Nat and Uncle Doug were. And what had her mom said about family members finding missing loved ones? If a niece could do such a thing, it would make almost as cool a story as the one about the twin. And while Mia’s mom was trapped, practically held hostage by the police, no one had charge of Mia right now.

  Plus, from the moment they got up here, Mia had felt like she was the one who was meant to find Aunt Nat. She loved Aunt Nat in a way nobody else did. She could just imagine Aunt Nat’s face when Mia appeared to lead her out of the woods.

  She glanced around the café. Officer Bishop stood chatting with the man who served drinks. Mia ducked her head, not quite looking at the two girls. Then she nodded.

  “Cool,” one of them said. She began braiding her long, dirty blond hair with a red bandanna as the third strand. When she lifted her arm, Mia saw a small tuft of hair under it, like a mouse. There was a smell coming from the girl’s armpit, pungent and strong, as if she hadn’t showered or used deodorant in a while.

  “Setting out soon?” asked her friend.

  Mia nodded again.

  Both girls had taken off their hiking boots and were applying some kind of strips to their bare feet. The girl with the braid held out a fold of the stuff. “You ever use this?”

  Mia shook her head.

  “Oh, you’ve got to,” her friend said. “Put it over blisters you’ve already got, or where you know you’re going to get them if you haven’t been on the trail in a while.”

  Mia extended her hand to take what the girl was offering—a thin, stretchy material that felt a little like the skin you peeled off a callous—then began to tug off her own boots and socks. After a few weeks spent wearing flip-flops, her feet felt like they’d been encased in concrete.

  �
�Whoa,” braid girl said. “You’re a virgin.”

  Mia felt her face flame, and stopped in the midst of pressing some of the substance to the back of her heel. Was that where you were likely to get blisters? She had no idea. She’d only gotten blisters once when she’d borrowed (slash stolen for a night) her mom’s one pair of heels, even though they hadn’t been all that high.

  The other girl dropped her gaze to Mia’s feet, before nodding and saying in a dry tone that made Mia feel as if she was missing some joke, “Well, she is only, like, sixteen.”

  Mia didn’t bother to correct her, examining her feet for whatever both girls were observing.

  Braid girl pointed. “No blisters, no calluses even. Your feet have never gotten beaten up by a trail.”

  “We’ve done two thru-hikes ourselves,” braid girl’s friend informed Mia.

  It was supposed to be an explanation, but of what, Mia had no idea. She tried to keep her face blank—you’re sixteen, she thought, so act like it—but the girls clearly read her confusion.

  “As in the whole length of the AT,” one said. “Not this trip, of course—you can’t leave this time of year—but we plan to make it from the Dacks to the Catskills.”

  Mia nodded, hoping she looked like she’d understood a little better.

  “So, like, what I meant is your feet. They’re unsullied.” The girl’s smile seemed to leak off her face. “You sure you’re up for Turtle Ridge?”

  “I’m up for it,” Mia said while both girls looked uncertainly at each other. “I need to do this,” she added, suddenly convinced. “It’s like I have to go.”

  “Hey, we totally get that,” one of the girls said at last. “Sometimes the trail calls to you louder than anyone else can hear.”

  “And there’s nothing like hitting that dirt.” The other girl directed her gaze downward. “Let’s see how you applied your skins.”

  Mia obediently extended her feet. She’d have to fill the water thing from the cooler that stood in one corner of the shop. She hoped she could figure out how to strap it on correctly, or else these girls would get even more concerned.

  “Good job,” said one of them.

  Mia twisted to look at the counter. Officer Bishop had just accepted a drink from the man in the apron. “I don’t have a great way to get there, though.” Mia held up the flyer. “I mean, I could walk, of course.” The little square map on the back of the flyer put the trail several miles from here, but Mia figured hikers would be used to such distances. “It’s just that I’m really itching to get going.”

  “You want to make some miles today,” said the other girl, nodding.

  Mia shot another glance toward the counter. Officer Bishop had begun walking toward the spiral staircase. Now she would go upstairs to non-talk to Mia’s parents, and Mia would have a few minutes to slip out. She nodded emphatically at the girls.

  “We can give you a lift,” one offered.

  “You can?” asked Mia.

  “Sure,” said her friend. “Trail sisters look out for each other.” She presented her fist for a bump, then rose in her newly laced-up boots.

  Both girls shrugged into framed backpacks before leading the way toward the exit of the barn. “Come on, little sis. We’ll get you to Turtle Ridge.”

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  The water felt icy as Natalie entered the creek. She could’ve stayed dry by maneuvering along the bank, but that path looked unreliable, climbing up and dipping down, as well as fraught with obstacles. Hooked elbows of misshapen tree roots, slippery patches, and pebbly stones. Besides, in the water, her tracks would be obscured.

  She scrambled over rocks, her shoes sliding on their mossy surfaces, using her hands as much as her feet. Her legs grew numb; she felt only the occasional splash that landed higher up on dry skin, or when a pool caught her unaware and she sank to greater depths. Small stones shifted beneath her feet, sending up clouds of murky water clouded with plant life and casting tiny, fast-moving fish into disarray.

  Natalie came to a narrows where the current grew strong, tugging at her knees and forcing her to throw out her arms to stay upright. In the sunlight, the water moved like quicksilver, splashes making little drops of mercury skitter over rocks. A huge boulder loomed, big enough to block passage unless she got out of the creek. She placed both hands atop the rock, throwing one leg up and trying to hoist herself over.

  Natalie stopped so abruptly that she slid back down, the smell of wet moss rank in her nostrils, brown streaks like the goo from slugs smearing her body.

  What was she doing, leaving her husband behind in the woods? Injured, his consciousness ebbing, and alone. The depths that had drawn her and Doug together had been largely unknown back when they met, unplumbed, nowhere near fully mined. They knew themselves better now, and their reasons for marrying amounted to far more than the lighthearted, enjoyable pursuits they’d once shared. However much life Doug had left, or she did for that matter, Natalie wanted them to live it together.

  She turned her back on the enormous rock and began to struggle through the water, upstream this time, against the current. Kicking up splashes, stubbing her toes on rocks as she headed back the way she had come.

  When she got to the place where she’d entered the creek, all the trees looked alike. She had no idea which one she had helped her husband hide beneath. It had been something deciduous, not a fir, she was pretty sure, and she began batting dark, fleshy leaves aside, snatching quick glances underneath before moving on.

  Doug was gone.

  They had been beside the creek when he got hurt. There were no trees left to check. She’d even looked beneath the pines.

  A sob crawled up her throat. Had Kurt come for him? Should Natalie go back to camp? Or had Doug, like an animal, dragged himself away to die, abandoned and alone?

  The word drag triggered something in Natalie’s brain, and she saw what she had been missing. A long swath of dirt, cleared of leaf matter and debris.

  Natalie began to follow it.

  She came to a structure composed of rocks that made the one that had stopped her in the creek look pebble-like. These boulders had been positioned by giants, soaring outward and up to the sky so that the sun had to fight to find pockets to shine into.

  The brushed bare patch of earth traveled into a crevasse between two monoliths. Natalie dropped down, crawling on all fours into the narrow tunnel. Doug’s journey must’ve been unbearable—the space was tight even for her, and her husband was bigger, and injured. The slightest knock of his foot against a stone wall would’ve caused agony. Doug’s decision made sense though. It was warmer in here, the edifice baked by sunlight.

  Her husband lay, knees drawn up to his chest, with his arms wrapped around one calf, leaving the other alone as if even a glancing touch far above the foot would be too much to bear. Doug’s body shook, flapping like a plastic bag in the wind.

  Natalie curved over, shell-like, wrapping her arms around her husband’s chest. It felt like there was less to him already. Pain had diminished Doug, stolen parts away.

  “Nat? You’re back… Did you find… Are we going to be…” Doug’s voice was so fractured, it was hard to be sure he was talking.

  “I didn’t go for help, honey,” Natalie said, swallowing a sob. Her own voice had to be firm and sure. She had made the right decision. The only decision she could live—or die—with. “I came back to be with you. I want to do this together.”

  Settling down beside Doug, the rock’s surface rough and warm upon her skin, she didn’t let herself think what this might mean.

  One of Doug’s arms fell like a weight onto her lap. Natalie picked up his icy hand and pressed it to her cheek.

  Her husband’s lips cracked in a semblance of a smile.

  Natalie rotated his palm and kissed it, over and over, to try to heat up the skin.

  “I…” Doug’s
voice wound down like the ticking hands on a clock. “…you. Nat.”

  “Shh,” she said, speaking softly also. “I love you too. I always will.”

  She lay down carefully, positioning herself next to Doug’s crumpled form and fighting to transfer some of her warmth. She must’ve been experiencing her own breed of shock, as if by taking on a share of Doug’s, she could ease his suffering, because unbelievably, she dozed. In fact, she slept hard enough to dream. She dreamt that Doug could walk again, only not really, this was a zombie-like stalk, his arms extended stiffly while he explained that Natalie had to leave right now, not a moment to waste, she had to go, go, go, as if agony had turned Doug into some frenzied version of an athletic coach. Natalie came to, arms wrapped around the jittering body of her husband.

  He was trying to tell her something, but couldn’t get any words out.

  Natalie heard a cannonball blast of successive, pounding footsteps headed right in their direction, and she knew.

  Kurt was coming.

  • • •

  Natalie reacted on sheer instinct, scooting backward, deeper into the cones and runnels of rock, until she came to a cleft too small for Kurt to infiltrate. She had to wrap her arms around her torso, reduce her circumference, in order to fit. Straitjacketed, she wedged herself inside and out of sight, then worked to still her breathing.

  The sound of Kurt’s voice was so jarring that it laid waste to Natalie’s best efforts, made her heart gong against her chest in a way she feared would be audible.

  Luckily, Kurt’s attention was focused elsewhere.

  “Good Lord,” he said. His voice came from close to the ground; he must have crouched down. “You encountered the worst of my traps, didn’t you? You poor man.”

  A long pause, the sound of steady, measured exhalations. Kurt’s, surely. Doug’s fragmented breathing couldn’t be made out at all.