“They’re all right. How long have you and Bert been going together?”
“A few months.”
“Live together?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s the holdout?”
“She’s not ready to give up her independence.”
“Where’ve I heard that before?” Andrea smiled. She looked beautiful, her eyes shining, her face burnished in the trembling glow of the firelight, glossy curls hanging across her forehead from under the edge of her stocking cap. “How come you let her talk you into this torture-fest they call backpacking?”
“She had her heart set on it. I didn’t want to disappoint her.”
“That’s about the way I got into this. Bonnie got the goddamn call of the wild, and talked me into coming along. Too bad we all didn’t run into each other a lot earlier. Those two sourdoughs could’ve kept each other company and left us out of it.”
Rick smiled. “Those are the breaks.”
“What would you like to be doing right now, if you weren’t stuck out here in the armpit of the universe?”
“Ideally. Maybe sitting at home with a drink, watching a good movie on the VCR.”
“Yeah. All right. What kind of movies do you like?”
“All kinds. Thrillers, mostly.”
“I knew a guy who lived off campus and had a VCR. All he ever played on it were sex movies. The idea was, I was supposed to get turned on and go crazy.”
“Did it work?”
She smiled. “Maybe. How about Bert? Does she like to watch that kind of stuff?”
“She’d rather do it than watch.”
“Well, lucky you. Does she see ... other guys?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not into guys.”
“You know what I mean.”
Rick’s heart quickened. Good Christ, he thought. Don’t jump to conclusions, maybe she’s just curious. “I haven’t,” he said. “It ... hasn’t come up.”
“It has now,” Andrea said.
“She might wake up.” His voice came out hoarse.
“That’s a chance we’d have to take. We could go off into the trees.”
“What about our three friends? Not to mention maybe mountain lions on the prowl?”
Still smiling, Andrea stood and brushed off the seat of her jeans. “I can see you’re not ready for this. But it’s gonna be a long night. If you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me.” She nodded toward her tent.
“Bonnie’s in there.”
“She won’t tell. In fact, I’m sure she’d be happy to keep watch later on. We could use the tent.”
“I don’t know.”
“Think about it,” she said. Then she turned away. She strolled across the camp, bent down, and crawled into her tent.
For a long time, Rick sat motionless.
He stared at Andrea’s tent.
Then he got up. He went to his pack and took out the bottle. When he returned to the fire, he sat on the rock where Andrea had been. That way, her tent was behind him so he wouldn’t have to look at it.
He opened his parka, took out the revolver, and rested it on his lap. Then he unscrewed the cap of his bottle and drank. The bourbon heated a path down his throat, spread warmth through his stomach.
You’re going to stop thinking about Andrea, he told himself.
He thought about how she had looked sitting across from him in the firelight. He remembered the way she had rubbed the seat of her jeans and he could almost feel her buttocks through the warm denim. He had half expected her to show him the marks that she suspected the hot rivets had put on her rump. If the rivets felt so hot, were they pressing her bare skin? Wasn’t she wearing panties? He wondered if she had taken off her jeans before getting into her sleeping bag. Maybe she had taken off everything, and was lying awake, naked in the snug warmth, waiting for him.
If you change your mind, you’ll know where to find me.
I’m not going to change my mind. Not the right place. Not the right time. There’s Bert. And you never know when those three scumbags might come sneaking out of the trees.
Rick looked quickly over his shoulder. He scanned the darkness behind him. Then his gaze lingered on Andrea’s tent.
When their time for watch comes up, he thought, she’ll probably stay inside, expecting me. How am I going to handle that?
Maybe I won’t tell them when it’s time. Maybe I’ll just stay here all night.
He turned again to the fire. He took another drink and looked toward the dark bushes. A rustle. Then the crack of breaking twigs. His head snapped forward, eyes riveted to the bushes. His breath came in shallow gulps.
Christ. My nerves are shot.
Another swig.
And another rustle. More of a flurry this time.
Birds?
Not in the dark.
The Thugateers? Jase, Luke—but not Wally, the scrote’d be asleep.
Who then?
Rick held still for a while.
No more rustles.
Silence.
Thank God.
Then, “Drink is the devil’s curse! ’Tis Satan’s brew to be sure. It poisoneth the soul!
“Repent, sinner, and mend thy ways afore it’s too late ... ”
The words hissed loudly in Rick’s left ear.
It was that close.
He twisted away and rolled off the rock. Hit the ground and lay there. Gasping for breath. Panting with fear. Choking on the pall of fetid breath that still warmed his cheek. It was wet with spittle. Uhhh ... He rolled over, heaving and grunting with disgust. Slashing at his face with both hands.
“God almighty!”
Outlined in the darkness, a man dressed in animal skins stood astride Rick’s body, his bony arms akimbo on his hips. Atop his head was the head of a coyote, flaps of gray fur hanging and winging about his shoulders. The coyote’s mouth hung open, showing teeth and a lolling tongue. There were dark holes where its eyes had been.
The weird headgear swung back and forth as its owner shook with rage. Rage? Rick couldn’t distinguish. Laughter? Yeah. The bastard was laughing. High-pitched squeals of glee.
A sweaty, hormonal animal odor swept up Rick’s nostrils as the creature side-stepped away from his body and skipped backward.
“What ... who in hell are you?” demanded Rick. The goddamn bastard was right about the Devil’s brew. I am seeing things—I gotta be!
“Angus is the name. Dearly beloved son of the Right Rev. John Brown McTavish! I was brought to this wilderness fifty years ago to preach the good Lord’s word. Aye. Praise be to the Lord. A-men!”
With a manic cackle the creature lifted a scrawny arm above his head, crooked the other at his hip, did a quick jig and then vanished, cackling, into the night.
The bottle was three-quarters empty. Rick held it toward the fire and shook it, watching the amber fluid swirl.
So that’s what it was. Stalking us. A bastard preacher-man gone ape. My God... The fuckin’ cotton-pickin’ lunatic ... Aawgghh ...
Better cut it out or I won’t have any left for tomorrow night.
He stood up. The revolver slid off his lap and dropped, its muzzle pounding his left foot. He winced at the sudden hurt, then bent over and picked up the weapon. He carried it in one hand, the bottle in the other. Bending over his pack, he put away the bottle.
He stood up straight. He breathed deeply. The chill night air smelled of pine. Just like a Christmas tree lot. He was a kid, and he’d gone with Dad and Julie to the Lopez Ranch to pick out a tree. They wandered through a maze of spruce and pine. Their breath made white plumes. Julie wore a down vest. Her jeans had a butterfly patch on the seat. Her jeans were cut off so high that the bottoms of her rear pockets hung out. Odd that she would wear such pants on a night like this. Odd, but nice.