by Sarah Read
Cathy tossed over the remaining bacon and two litres of water. She picked up whatever bits of Bob she could find in the clearing and piled them around the body. Bonnie lay down with her back to Bob, and used the bacon as a pillow, salty tears running down its streaky sides. Cathy headed off along the trail.
¤
By the time Cathy returned, she had put on another of Bob’s orange bush shirts, as well as his hat and hiking boots. She had put Bonnie’s bike in the back of Bob’s pickup, along with his camping gear, a tarp, and food for a weekend. Then, with Bob’s hat pulled low over her face, she mowed his lawns, front and back. She used the big ride-on tractor mower he’d bought not long ago, the one with the evidence-grinding mulching blade. By the time she finished, the sky was darkening, with black clouds gathering over the lowering sun. The rain would work in their favour, but not if it came too soon. She couldn’t smell it yet, so they still had time.
On the way back, she cleaned up the trail as much as she could, praying that rain and scavengers would erase what she missed.
¤
Cathy put Bob and his bits on his own tarp, making a triangular stretcher out of it with two long, fallen branches. She made a sling out of bungee cords and put it over Bonnie’s shoulders. Bonnie snarled.
“Yeah? You did this, so you can haul him to the car. I’d drape him over your shoulders but the body’s too fragile. Just be grateful.”
Bonnie was already in a worse mood, despite the Midol. A few minutes earlier, she’d protested being trussed up like a circus bear in an underwear-like contraption of a pad composed of parts of three adult diapers and more bungee cords. She had roared when Cathy put it on her.
“I know. I’m sorry. That’s what they looked like forty years ago. Sort of. You’re right, no wings. No god-damned wings. If we had those in bear size, maybe we could fly away, but we don’t and we can’t.”
The bear bellowed.
“I don’t care what it looks like. I’m not rolling it into a goddamned plug. You can’t put it in. All you’ve got are paws, and I’m sure as hell not doing it. You’re catching a ride home with me, and you’re coming in my truck bed. I don’t want any goddamned blood there. What if someone notices and reports it? By they time they figure out it’s not Bob’s blood, I’ll already be in the hoosegow and you won’t be in any fit state to post bail. And you’ll be a suspect. So just get over yourself.”
The bear raised her lips in a sneer.
“Yes, I did say ‘hoosegow’. What’s it to you?”
The bear lowered her head, rumbled and chuffed, but finally followed, wearing her improvised supplies. After a few minutes of observation, Cathy said: “Good. They’re working just fine. Maybe I should go into business making them. You know, sell them to a small but select market?”
Chuffing.
Good. First sign of a sense of humour. “Web-based, of course. Mail order.”
The pair shambled through the darkening bush at the pace of the aching bear. They would have to trust to the coming rain to obscure their trail now, as it was too dark to see and so erase signs of their passage. Guided by their noses, they dragged Bob along on his final walk through the woods.
¤
Cathy had pulled Bob’s pickup up to the back of his lot under the canopy of the encroaching bush. Cathy and Bonnie now stood, ears and noses twitching, checking for any signs of human presence before breaking cover.
Cathy loaded the tarp-wrapped Bob into the front passenger seat. She turned to Bonnie.
“I’ve already stowed your bike. I’ll meet you at the parking lot by Bigham’s Trail. That’s where you usually camped, right?”
Bonnie whimpered and then set off back through the brush. In a second, it was as if she’d never been there.
Cathy drove carefully out of Bob’s property, scanning for traffic both ways, but there was no one to see her emerge from the driveway. She maintained her caution all the way to Bigham’s Trail. When a moose appeared on the road in front of her, then leapt away, wild-eyed, Cathy broke into a sweat. She dodged the animal and kept the vehicle upright, regaining the road from her swerve. After that, she drove even more slowly, cursing, with her heart hammering all the rest of the way.
No one was in the parking lot. She took out the bike and hid it behind a bush on the edge of the paved lot. Bigham Trail didn’t lead to one of the many park campgrounds, but dropped downhill to a beach where locals could camp in relative peace once tourist season was done. This time of year, and particularly on a hot Saturday night, the beach would usually host bush parties of teens, getting drunk and getting laid. Still too early for that. Cathy was counting on the rain to keep them away later. She could feel the change in the air pressure, the storm building. It was going to be a big one, Thank God. But she had work to do before it arrived. Before Bonnie arrived.
Cathy shifted Bob as carefully as she could, off the tarp and over towards the driver’s seat. She aligned his various portions in the semblance of a driving position. She removed the hat and shirt of Bob’s covering her own clothes. His hat and shirt were now bloodstained from her moving of his various portions at various times. She placed the garments in the centre of the bloody tarp on the seat beside Bob, along with his knapsack and food for his supposed over-nighter. She wrapped them all into a parcel, one loose enough to plausibly spill open and be stained by Bob’s blood in an accident. Please let it all be Bob’s blood on the clothes, none of Bonnie’s. She was pretty sure Bonnie’s hadn’t touched it all, but you never knew.
Still wearing Bob’s boots, Cathy took out her own shoes from the vehicle, which she had stowed at the same time as the bike. She tied the laces together, and then hung them around her neck. Between the extra layers of clothes, the exertion, and the heat, her own clothes were saturated with sweat. The breeze sent shivers down her wet spine. The breeze also brought the musky scent of bear. Cathy heard a soft chuff rise from the closest underbrush.
“Just about ready. I saw the used wine glasses at the house and half of a litre bottle of cheap wine gone. Did they drink a lot today?”
Growl.
“Good. I brought the rest of the bottle.” Cathy splashed some of it around the front seat of the car. She turned to Bonnie.
“Want some? It’ll help with the cramps.”
The bear whined.
“I don’t have any evening primrose oil.”
Bonnie sneered and grunted.
“Look,” said Cathy,” Don’t go getting all wholistic-ier than thou on me. Wine’s what I’ve got. Maybe the goddamn grapes were organic. Want it or not?”
Bonnie nodded, and Cathy upturned the bottle into Bonnie’s mouth as the bear gulped.
“That’s enough. Damn it, leave some for me. I could use a stiff one. Oops. Poor choice of words. Sorry, Bob.”
Cathy said a few final words of farewell over the body, sucked back the last of the wine, and then polished the bottle free of prints. She wiped the fingers of one of Bob’s hands clear of blood, and then wrapped them around the bottle. When she released him, the bottle fell with a clunk to the car seat, then rolled to the floor. Rigor mortis hasn’t started yet. The body will still lie natural where it falls. And to wherever it gets dragged after that. She started the truck’s engine.
“Time to go down with the ship, Bob.” She turned to the bear, who was sitting, hunched, head bowed. Cathy stopped to check the dusk wind coming off the water and up the hill. No innocent bystanders. Thank heavens.
“I’ll aim him to go down the dirt road, not the hiking trail. Either he’ll hit that big tree at the bottom of the curve, or he’ll head down to the rocks below. I’ll start it up and jump clear before the tree. You stand ready by that blueberry bush and catch me.”
Cathy knew she was taking a risk in trusting her sister’s whirling emotions and long sharp claws; also in trusting that if her sister missed, Cathy would come out of the jump with her own body intact. Still, to do nothing was riskier. She looked the bear in the eyes.
“
I’m counting on you, Bonnie.” Bonnie looked back, fully present in her answering stare. She took a deep, bear breath, and chuffed, waves of calm determination rolling off her.
“Fine, then. Let’s go.”
Once Bonnie was in place, Cathy joined Bob charily in the driver’s seat, patted his shoulder in sad farewell, ignored all the panic-stricken, adrenaline-laced messages sent by her body and brain, put the truck in gear, pressed the accelerator to the floor, and set her sights on the tree below. She leapt out the door at the start of the curve, flew long enough to question her own sanity, and then hit her sister’s bulk. The momentum sent them hurtling backwards into the bushes. Seconds later, the pickup smashed the tree, expelling screeching crows high into the air.
“Just like in the movies, only no explosion.”
Cathy rose, fracture-free, but she felt promises of tomorrow’s deep, dark bruises in every move. She brushed off herself and the bear, who groaned at the touch.
“I’m sure it does hurt. Good catch, though. Thanks.” Cathy straightened her clothing and retrieved her shoes from the bushes where the leap had flung them. “Now, go take care of business in case the truck does burst into flame. I’ll be at Smith’s Landing in an hour.”
The bear whimpered softly.
“You’re welcome. Really. Now go on.” She patted the bear’s flank, and then limped up to the concrete surface of the parking lot. She cleaned Bob’s boots under the drinking water tap, then rode Bonnie’s bike back to Bob’s house. She returned Bob’s boots to the boot rack, and changed into her own shoes. After stowing the bike in her pickup’s front grille rack, Cathy headed out to Smith’s Landing. The storm was imminent. The hair on her forearms raised and prickled. The air was close and vibrant, and her armpits were drenched with the heat of the night and her exertions. She sighed at the thought of her original air-conditioned plans for the evening.
The mournful bear, dried blood crusting her muzzle and paws, was waiting at the side of the paved boat landing. The drone of an outboard motor coming over the dark water sent Bonnie scurrying into the underbrush, but the drone faded to nothingness somewhere out of view in the night. The first thunder crashed. Lightning hit the water far off in the distance, illuminating the shore and water in between for a few brief seconds. No sign of a boat. Good, thought Cathy. If we can’t see them, maybe no one saw the truck.
“Hit the water, Bonnie, and wash off before the next strike.”
The bear launched herself at a full gallop into the water, dove in, scrubbed herself and splashed out, shaking her dripping coat all over Cathy, just as the next roll of thunder filled their ears with its boom. The skies burst open upon the sisters.
“Get in the truck.”
Bonnie headed towards the passenger door.
“In the back.”
The bear growled, but climbed, a sodden mess, into the truck bed. She shook her hind quarters, trying to dislodge her mocked-up sanitary sling.
“No, you’ve got to keep that damned thing on for now. I know it’s all wet and slipping. That’s why you can’t walk. We could wrap a tarp around you but you still couldn’t make it home in that. What would happen if anyone saw you? Hang in there. It’s almost over.”
The bear shook and moaned, a roar starting its swell in her throat. Cathy had no time to be careful.
“Stop that! Be quiet. Don’t fall apart now.” She pulled out a gun. “Look, I’ve brought the pneumatic, the telazol, and the gear. It’ll help with the ride home, not to mention your cramps. If anyone stops me, I’ll say I’m helping Parks with a relocation.”
The aborted roar turned into a whimper.
“Yes, Dave’ll back me up, if I need it. He’s the one who slipped me the stuff to begin with. He won’t ask too many questions, either.” I hope.
The whimper became snuffling.
“Now, don’t move. You know the drill. We’ve got to make it look legit.” Cathy squeezed the lubricating drops into Bonnie’s eyes, and then blindfolded her.
“Get comfy.”
The shot was quick, right between the shoulders. Bonnie took it without a sound, and was out in moments. Cathy pulled a tarp over the truck bed frame, covering the bear, and headed out into the storm with her lumpy cargo.
¤
Once the night fell, the temperature plummeted. Cathy was soaked. She put the truck’s heater on, and peered through the windshield. There was no lighting along this stretch of the highway, and hemmed in as the road was by bush, now with sheets of rain assaulting the windshield, Cathy had to concentrate hard to see where she was driving. She tried to block the incessant, demanding thoughts about what she might have missed in the clean up, about whether there would be tracks from Bob’s boots in the bush after she leapt from his car, or whether the boat truly hadn’t seen her by Smith’s Landing. To keep her nerves steady, she reminded herself that she knew this highway well enough to navigate it, not just in the dark, but blindfolded. There was no traffic. After a while, there were no edgy nerves to steady. By the time they were three-quarters home, with the park long behind them, she almost wished her panic would return. She was exhausted, all extra adrenaline depleted by the day’s extended surge. I’m half dry now. Maybe I could cut the heat a bit, stay awake better.
She dropped her eyes and adjusted the heat controls. She wished she was Bonnie, asleep back there. But no, Bonnie would have to cope with all the guilt and loss when she woke up. Maybe Cathy had the better deal after all. Bob, Bob, you poor bastard. If only you’d behaved. But he hadn’t. Or maybe he had. Who knows? Maybe there was no “understanding” between Bob and Bonnie. Maybe…
Damn it! Cathy was yanked from her musings by the sight of scarlet tail lights and amber hazards flashing through the rain, parked just ahead in the middle of the highway. She hit her own brakes, and with a whip-lashing jerk, halted inches from the other vehicle.
“What’s that, Officer?” she rehearsed mentally. “Why, it’s only a bear in the back. No, don’t worry, it’s asleep. It’s mine. I run a zoo.” No way would that work. How about: “Don’t worry, it’s drugged. I’m moving it for Dave Leclair, you know, the warden? Taking it up north of town. I’ve got to hurry or the bear will wake up before I get there. Sure, call Dave…” Dave would cover for her, but then she’d have to come up with a good story for him.
A gun shot cracked through the air, audible between thunder and lightning strikes. Damn it. Two dead bodies today. What are the odds of that?
Someone was coming around towards her from the front of the car ahead. Hard to say who it might be in all the rain, but she could see he was cradling a rifle.
What the hell is this? A backwoods drug deal gone sour? Big city drug lords on vacation? The adrenaline was back. No, God, I bet it’s poachers. Rumour had it that meant organized crime, serious money, and very serious hunters. I’m out of here. I’ll run over the bastard if I have to. She put the car in gear and started to crank the wheel, when she recognized Dave and stopped short. She rolled down her window, and the rain poured in.
“Hello, Cathy.” Dave’s long, weathered face looked haggard in the downpour, but his blue eyes were as penetrating as ever, even shadowed by his hat. Damn. Cathy’s stomach did a little flip, and she had that familiar feeling that Dave’s was maybe doing one of its own.
“Hey, Dave. I didn’t recognize the car. What’s going on? I heard a shot.”
“Deer lying in the road. Some jerk must’ve hit it and kept on going. Pretty badly hurt. I put it out of its misery.” He looked back towards his car, then up at Cathy. “Can you help me out with the carcass? I’m driving my new car, not the Parks vehicle, so I got no place to stow it.”
“Well… I’m on my way home. I don’t really want to backtrack to the Parks office in this weather.”
“Me neither. Maybe we could just take it back to my place in town, and I’ll deal with it in the morning. Got a big locker there for times like this. ‘Road Kill Alley’, Louise used to call it.”
“Yeah, Louise… I wa
s sorry to hear about that.”
Dave shrugged, and his sharp eyes clouded for an instant. “Thanks. But, that’s life, I guess.”
“You ok?”
“Getting there. Now, how about that deer?”
Not seeing any way out of it, Cathy helped him haul the oozing carcass around to the back of her truck. Fortunately for her stiff, bruised muscles, the deer had been young and small.
“Your truck looks pretty loaded back here already,” shouted Dave through the rain.
“Just supplies.” Cathy climbed up on the truck bed, straddled the lump that was Bonnie as best she could, and prayed the waning thunder would still cover the bear’s intermittent snores. David stood on the ground and boosted the deer up to Cathy. She settled the carcass awkwardly over and around the tarp-hidden bear. They headed back to their vehicles.
Cathy followed Dave’s car to his house, illumination from his tail lights making for an easier drive. By the time they stopped in his driveway, the thunder and lightning had ceased, and the storm lessened to a steady downpour. They parked beneath the brilliant lighting of the locker entrance. Geez, it’s like noon here, Dave. After the body was safely deposited, Dave walked her back to the truck, still upset about the deer. While she usually found his kindness touching, tonight all she could think about was reaching home.
“Thanks for this,” Dave said. “Kept me from getting the new car all filthy. Still has that new car smell.” He grinned.
“No problem. But I really got to get going.”
“Wait. I owe you. I’ll get you a new tarp,” he said, eyeing the tarp-covered, gore-speckled mound just visible over the sides of the truck. “Looks like the deer got this one all bloody.” Reaching up, he patted the tarp. Cathy saw his face tighten as he felt the warmth and the small rise and fall of breathing beneath his fingers. He climbed up the side of the truck and pulled back the edge of the cloth, uncovering the limp claws of one paw. He touched the flecks of pink polish and peered at Cathy.
