 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
                           TRIAD
                              
              A Novel by Suzanne L. McAllister
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
             Dedicated to Tony, Pete and Derek; 
             despite the way things turned out
                we were the best of friends
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
      Since this story is based on a childhood trip from 
  Michigan through Canada to Alaska, the author asks that 
  anyone familiar with the route my characters take please 
  allow for the failings of memory, and literary license where 
  research failed.
      Special thanks to the book "In the Shadow of a Rainbow" 
  by Robert Franklin Leslie, and the wonderful, patient 
  librarians at the Ferndale Library who never asked questions 


                           1





  when I requested some odd books!

                                         S. McAllister
                                         Ferndale, MI
                                         June 1992























































                           2





                 _CHAPTER I- THE BEGINNING

                              

     "Aren't you ready yet?"

      Kirstin Warland blew hair out of her eyes and snapped, 

  "Not yet, I'm gettin' there! Keep rushing me and you know 

  I'll forget something important!"

      "Hey, chill out, Scott," Paul looked over the woman's 

  head at his cousin from the bedroom doorway. "We're still 

  'way ahead of schedule."

      Scott Oakes sighed and glared back at the younger man, 

  but left off his badgering. Paul was right. Rush Kirstin and 

  she'd surely forget or overlook something, which they 

  couldn't afford to do on this trip. 

      "C'mon, let's go see how Eric's doing," Paul punched 

  Scott in the shoulder playfully, dodging the expected, but 

  absent, return swing. "I want to make sure he's got the 

  cooler within easy reach."

      With the guys out of her hair Kirstin relaxed. 

  "Dickheads," she muttered to herself, jamming another pair 

  of sweatsocks into the bulging backpack, another one sitting 

  nearby just as full. Mentally she ticked off the list: 

  socks, underwear, jeans, shorts, t-shirts, sweats. And 

  toothpaste, shitpaper, toothbrushes, deodorant, hairbrushes, 

  shampoo, pads, razor. There wasn't much more that would fit 

  in the backpacks, and she knew that the others' were just as 

  full.

      She straightened, stretching, a slender young woman in 

  her mid-twenties. Shaggy, curly dark hair framed an 

  unremarkable oval face neither pretty nor ugly, one crooked 


                           1





  front tooth lending character to it. High cheekbones and 

  slightly flaring nostrils gave a hint of Indian blood to her 

  features, but the clear greenish-grey eyes belied that 

  effect. Looking away from the dressertop mirror she shrugged 

  and closed the backpack, struggling with the catches and 

  buttons. _I sure hope that'll be enough for the first week 

  of camping 'cause I'm not washing clothes in a cold stream. 

  __ She snorted suppressed laughter at the thought of her 

  boyfriend, his cousin, and their buddy kneeling on a 

  riverbank, dunking and wringing clothes. _Never happen, _she 

  amended. _They'd put up with their own stenches before it 

  came to that.

      _"Kirstin..?" her man's gravelly voice filtered down 

  the short hallway.

      "I'm done," she called back. "You want to come carry 

  these for me?"

      Scott paused in the doorway, a wide grin on his 

  formerly scowling bearded face. "You ought to hear those two 

  arguing about loading the truck," he chuckled. "Paul wants 

  the beer cooler in the back seat, with us, but Eric says 

  that if he's driving then it goes in the bed with the 

  luggage and stuff."

      Kirstin snorted, glancing at him before sweeping the 

  small bedroom with her eyes. "Neither of 'em are driving 

  drunk or I'll take the keys and drive m'self," she stated 

  flatly. "I plan to make it there and back in one piece, no 

  accidents, no tickets, no jail terms. Besides, Paul oughtta 

  know better."

      "Don't worry. I sided with Eric." Scott pulled on the 


                           2





  two heavy packs experimentally, then heaved them into the 

  air, arms bulging with veined muscle. Kirstin's eyes widened 

  appreciatively, thinking that the money spent on their small 

  but complete home gym and weight equipment was well spent.

      She followed him down the hall, watching the play of 

  muscles beneath the denim covering his tight ass. She fought 

  back desire, knowing there wasn't even time for a quickie, 

  thinking, as she often did, that it was a rare relationship 

  that not only survived but grew in intensity and desire 

  after five years.

      In the driveway of Scott and Kirstin's suburban tract 

  house was a gleaming brand-new long-bed, gold over brown 

  Jeep Cherokee Trailmaster. Its extra-long rear compartment 

  was nearly filled with luggage, six tightly-rolled sleeping 

  bags, a bulky Coleman stove, a canvas tent, and other 

  assorted camping and fishing gear. A large blue and white 

  cooler had a place of honor near the tailgate, empty can 

  templates and Coors boxes scattered around it. "Jesus, did 

  you guys bring enough beer?" Kirstin exclaimed as she 

  glanced inside the cooler. There had to be at least two 

  cases' worth of Miller, Bud, and Coors cans snuggled among 

  the ice. 

      Paul and Eric grinned and nodded. Standing side by side 

  they were an unusual sight, yin and yang, dark and light. 

  Scott's younger cousin Paul Marinsco had dark blonde, 

  shoulder-length hair, light blue eyes, and a thin--too 

  thin--body, the top of his head barely reaching Eric's nose. 

  Eric Czyski was tall, six-two, with military-short black 

  hair, gold-rimmed aviator glasses, and dark brown eyes. An 


                           3





  Army veteran and active reservist, he had chipped in on 

  Scott and Kirstin's weight set and his muscular build showed 

  how regularly he came over to their house to use it. Scott 

  was between them in height, his long hair nearly as dark as 

  Eric's but with reddish highlights. And where both of the 

  other men were clean-shaven and light on body hair, Scott's 

  face, bare chest and flat belly were covered with thick, 

  curly dark hair.

      "There's some pop in there too," Paul answered. "Diet 

  Coke for you, Crush for Eric, and Pepsi for me and Scott. 

  And the beer and bag's for all of us."

      "Hey- we agreed no smoking or drinking while we're on 

  the road," Kirstin reminded them. 

      "Well, hey, a little joint now and then ain't gonna 

  hurt."

      "Fine, go ahead, get high, and if they've got 

  drug-sniffing dogs at the border?" she snapped back at Paul, 

  annoyed. "I thought we agreed to hide the dope over the gas 

  tank until we were well into Canada."

      "She's right and you know it," Eric pointed out, waving 

  away a midsummer fly. "They can't do shit about the beer 

  unless it's open, but they'll lock us up over a half-pound 

  of weed. That's a lot to be smuggling, even if it is for our 

  personal use."

      "They'd never believe that anyway," Scott interjected. 

  "Remember Bob Probert, the hockey player, with that little 

  bit of coke?"

      "Oh, come on, you mean we can't even smoke a joint on 

  the way up to the Soo?" Paul frowned. "That's four or five 


                           4





  hours!"

      "Leave off," Scott scowled meaningfully at his cousin. 

  They and Eric had grown up together and rarely argued before 

  one of them made peace, and this time was no exception. 

  Grumbling, Paul went into the house, but made no further 

  protests.

      Kirstin walked around the gleaming truck, admiring it. 

  She and Scott owned older cars, a '78 Maverick and an '80 

  Cutlass respectively, both rusting and in need of work. It 

  would be nice--and unusual--to ride in and drive a vehicle 

  where everything worked and was legal, with insurance and 

  everything. They had rented the truck in Eric's name as he 

  had a spotless driving record. Paul had two convictions for 

  DWI and a restricted license, while both she and Scott had 

  unpaid tickets. 

      Lost in thought, she wandered back into the house, not 

  noticing that Eric and Scott were deep in conversation. In 

  the hallway she nearly ran into Paul as he left the 

  bathroom. "You're not mad at me, are you?" she asked, 

  leaning against the doorway. She liked and got along well 

  with both Eric and Paul, who were her friends as well as 

  Scott's. Many times when he was working late they would come 

  over and keep her company, get high and play cards, and 

  often stayed the night. 

      "Nah. I see your point. but we're gonna get fucked up 

  tonight when we camp out!" He grinned at her, light eyes 

  sparkling in the muted light of the hall. "We are gonna have 

  the time of our lives on this trip, am I right?"

      "You know it," Kirstin grinned back. "That is, if we 


                           5





  don't kill each other first!"



      Their house-sitter, Eric's younger sister Lisa, arrived 

  fifteen minutes later. Already married and separated at 

  eighteen, she was nonetheless a person Scott and Kirstin 

  trusted to stay in their house for three weeks. As she 

  hopped out of her Toyota, parked beside the Cherokee, she 

  glanced at her brother and said, "Ma made sure she had this 

  phone number and made me promise all the usual shit. As if 

  I'd have the asshole over here! By the way, guys, thanks for 

  the opportunity to get away from Ma and Frank for a couple 

  of weeks."

      "Hey, no problem, you're doing us a big favor," Kirstin 

  said even as Scott added, "I hear that. I don't think I 

  could move back in with my parents, even temporarily."

      Lisa curled her lip, nose wrinkling. "Another three 

  hundred dollars, not including what you're paying me, and 

  I'll have enough for an apartment. I'll pay for the calls I 

  make while I'm searching through the paper."

      "Don't worry about it. C'mon, I'll show you where 

  everything is." The two young women headed into the house, 

  Kirstin's voice drifting back to the men: "The dog gets fed 

  twice a day, and the fish..."

      Eric squinted up at the sun, which was approaching 

  noon, then glanced at his watch. "Shit, I almost don't 

  believe we're finally doing this."

      "No doubt," Paul nodded. "I'm glad they called me back. 

  I didn't think I'd be able to come up with the money when 

  they laid me off back in December."


                           6





      "Yeah, I'm just glad they sold the company," Scott 

  agreed, meaning the plastics plant that he, Paul, and 

  Kirstin worked at. "Kirstin was telling me yesterday that 

  the new owners are going to expand. It helps to have her in 

  the front office so we can find out this shit in advance."

      "Ain't that the truth," Paul agreed. Scott was a repair 

  tech, while he was just an assembly line worker, so Kirstin, 

  as a secretary, had access to privileged information that 

  the factory people didn't. "Hey, we're finally on our way! 

  Y'know, Sherri thinks we're batshit for going to Alaska. She 

  says she'd go to Niagara Falls or Kings Island."

      Eric and Scott exchanged understanding glances. Paul's 

  girlfriend was nice enough but a total dizzy airhead. "We 

  couldn't fish in either of those places," his cousin 

  replied. "Besides, I've got my heart set on finding out if 

  Canadian pike and muskie fight as good as our Michigan 

  fish."

      "According to the brochures, they're a lot bigger," 

  Eric said, a gleam in his eye. All four of them were avid 

  outdoorspeople. "We'll soon see."

      "I guess that's it," Kirstin was saying as she and Lisa 

  stepped out onto the tiny front porch and paused. "We'll 

  call every chance we get in case you have any questions."

      "I don't think I will. You're pretty thorough," Lisa 

  said, bouncing Kirstin's keyring in her hand.

      After a brief pause, Eric said, "Well, people, what're 

  we waiting for? Christmas? I want to see the sun at 

  midnight, not months of darkness!"

      Kirstin ran back into the house to get her sweatjacket, 


                           7





  which she tossed over the Cherokee's back seat as the hot 

  June day didn't warrant wearing it, though she suspected 

  she'd need it at night. She and Scott, carrying rather than 

  wearing his t-shirt, climbed into the back as Eric started 

  the Cherokee, Paul riding shotgun for the first driving 

  shift.

      Lisa waved as it backed out, sunstreaks flashing off 

  the polished chrome and clear windows. When the truck had 

  disappeared from view she shook her head, muttered, "Why 

  _Alaska?" _ _in a derogatory tone, and went inside to call 

  her friends to come over and party tonight.



      The freeway was surprisingly empty for a Friday 

  afternoon, and they made good time to Sault Ste. Marie and 

  the International Bridge to Canada. When they reached the 

  booths, all of them tensed as the customs officer approached 

  their truck. He examined their IDs, registration and rental 

  papers, glanced into the rear with a frown, then asked why 

  they were entering the country. "We're driving to Alaska, 

  camping along the way," Eric answered, holding up a Kiwanis 

  campgrounds guide.

      Still frowning, the officer waved them on. As soon as 

  they were out of his earshot Kirstin said, "He didn't like 

  seeing those beer cartons in the back, guys. You shoulda 

  tossed them before we crossed."

      "If he'd have opened the cooler and saw the beer, he 

  might have made us go back and get rid of it," Eric glanced 

  at her in the rearview mirror. "I know, we used to go to 

  Point Pelee for the smelt runs before my dad died- and he 


                           8





  couldn't go half an hour without a beer."

      Kirstin declined to reply to that, turning to look out 

  the window for her first sight of Canada as Paul leaned over 

  and turned the radio up again. Led Zeppelin blasted from the 

  quad speakers as the truck raced past duty-free stores. She 

  wanted to ask them to stop, but the excitement of the trip 

  was renewed by the border crossing.

      Two hours later the excitement had worn off completely. 

  The Cherokee was filled with the sound of angry voices, 

  rocketing along at an illegal seventy kilometers under 

  Paul's heavy foot. 

      "No, we missed it, I tell you!"

      "It's up ahead-"

      "Would you slow the fuck down, Paul?"

      "Kiss my ass, Kirstin, __I'm _ _drivin'. You wanna 

  drive?"

      "Hey, fuck off, asshole!"

      "Look, we hadn't planned to stop again so soon, so it 

  doesn't-"

      "I gotta go to the john, goddammit! I can't whip it out 

  the window like you guys!" That broke the tension and Paul 

  let off the accelerator, snorting laughter, Eric guffawing. 

  Slightly mollified, she glanced over at her man, who sat 

  sullen and silent against the left passenger door, face 

  turned away from her so all she could see was his 

  shoulder-length dark hair and part of his bearded jaw. 

  "Scott?"

      "Hmmn?" he glanced over at her, dark brows nearly a 

  slash across his face, he was frowning so deeply.


                           9





      She recognized his checked anger from long experience 

  and kept her mouth shut. He had a fierce, sometimes 

  uncontrollable temper, a consequence of his Italian/Greek 

  heritage. "Nothing," she said hesitantly, turning to look 

  unseeingly out the window. Her gut ached, bladder 

  uncomfortably full but not yet painful. He was probably 

  pissed off at her for insisting they stop again, so she sat 

  with her teeth clenched and hoped for a rest stop to appear 

  ahead. 

      They swept around a curve and gasped almost in unison. 

  They'd left heavily populated areas behind some time ago, 

  but had been sighting small towns and scattered farms 

  throughout the open countryside. Now before them opened a 

  vista of sheer unbroken forest that sloped down into a long, 

  shallow valley with a long, narrow river cutting through it. 

  Pale blue ridges of mountains shone hazily in the afternoon 

  sunlight, impossibly distant but __there.__

      "Where are we?" Paul asked, surprised by the sight. 

  "Eric, got the map? I didn't think we'd see mountains so 

  soon."

      He took the atlas from between the bucket seats and 

  leafed through it. "Navigator reporting in, cap'n. We're 

  right on schedule, actually. Hang on, Kirstin, there's a 

  rest stop five kilometers ahead."

      "Thank god," she said fervently and with such clear 

  relief that Eric chuckled out loud, and Scott visibly 

  relaxed. He stretched, then reached for the paper sack of 

  chips and other munchies they'd stopped for earlier. Why 

  hadn't she used the bathroom then? he wondered. That was 


                           10





  like Kirstin, to wait so they would have to stop again 

  before they were scheduled to. She'd better quit that shit, 

  though, he thought. Maybe I should mention it to her 

  tonight. If we're going to make this trip on time we _have 

  __to follow the schedule we've worked out.

      "Mountains. Look at that," she murmured, half to 

  herself. Born in New York City, raised in Michigan since she 

  was two, she'd never seen mountains before. She was the only 

  one of them who had never travelled more than a few hundred 

  miles. Both Eric and Scott had been in the service, the 

  latter having spent eighteen months in Germany, the former 

  having been to Honduras, while Paul had lived with his older 

  brother in Colorado for a year. They had picked the drive to 

  Alaska across Canada mostly because it was somewhere none of 

  them had been, and close enough to be feasible for a 

  three-week vacation. On top of that, where else better to 

  escape from civilization?

      At the rest stop, Kirstin paused in the echoingly empty 

  restroom after relieving herself. Why had Scott been pissed 

  off? Their arguing? Did he expect this trip to go perfectly, 

  like some TV sitcom family outing? Of course they would 

  argue occasionally, they'd never agree on everything. It was 

  to be expected, and dealt with. _It looks like his temper 

  might be a problem, one I didn't expect, __she thought to 

  herself with an unconscious frown. _I hope I don't have to 

  spend this whole trip pacifying him. 

      _Outside, she found Paul and Scott sitting on the 

  Cherokee's hood, sharing a bag of barbecue Fritos and 

  drinking Pepsis. "Where's Eric?" she asked, relived to see 


                           11





  that Scott had apparently snapped out of his bad mood. She 

  gazed longingly at the beaded moisture on their cans, but 

  dared not take one for herself. They were not going to let 

  her stop every hour to piss, and soda--coffee, too-- had a 

  way of going right through her. It had been a mistake for 

  her to drink that Diet Coke right after they'd left the last 

  rest stop. Instead, she got a roll of Lifesavers from her 

  purse, glad she'd thought to buy them earlier.

      "He went to get a newspaper. They've got the News here, 

  surprisingly enough." Paul yawned. "He's following the 

  crisis in the Middle East."

      "Yeah?" Kirstin sucked on a sweet strawberry candy. "I 

  thought there wasn't any danger of war again since the peace 

  talks."

      "You didn't hear? Another Arabian oil tanker got blown 

  up in the Persian Gulf. Arabia's blaming Iraq, and they're 

  saying it was Iran. Confused shit. What do you think, Paul?"

      "I don't give a fuck, but _he __thinks we might be 

  going back to alert status because of it."

      "Hey, it could happen again," Scott said, wiping his 

  hands on his jeans then rolling up the bag of Fritos. "I 

  think they're looking for a reason to start something."

      "Like what?" Kirstin asked in a disbelieving voice. "If 

  they nuke us there won't be anybody to buy their damned 

  oil."

      "If oil tankers keep getting blown up before they even 

  make it to the open ocean that oil isn't getting sold 

  anyway," Eric walked up, waving a newspaper he'd gotten from 

  the row of boxes behind the restrooms. "Look at this." He 


                           12





  held it up, the huge double headline reading: SAUDI ARABIA 

  THREATENS WAR IF TANKER ATTACKS NOT STOPPED BY ALLIED 

  FORCES. 

      "Oh my good lord," Kirstin breathed, her green-grey 

  eyes wide. "Eric, do you think..?"

      "I don't know. It looks possible." He frowned, tossing 

  the paper onto the Cherokee's gleaming gold hood beside 

  Paul. "I wonder if we should cancel this."

      "You really think it's that bad?" Paul asked worriedly. 

  Though he didn't follow politics or world events, he knew 

  Eric did and if _he _was concerned, then there was a reason 

  to be.

      "Hey, these unstable Arabs are just looking for a 

  reason to start something, to prove they're a world power, 

  after we beat Iraq. And I think Russia's behind them, for 

  all they're saying they're innocent."

      "Wait, now, before we do something stupid." Scott 

  protested. "Eric, I know you're Reserve, but if you're 

  called up, I'm sure Lisa'll tell us when we call her."

      He frowned back, eyes dark behind half-tinted gold 

  glasses. "Yeah... yeah, I guess you're right. But being in 

  Canada when war's about to break out... it doesn't feel 

  right. Oh, what the hell. It's about time to start looking 

  for the campgrounds and we can call her from there."

      Kirstin glanced at her watch and was surprised to see 

  that it was almost eight o'clock. "No shit. How far's the 

  campgrounds?"

      "Another hour, maybe less. You drivin'?" Paul asked 

  Scott.


                           13





      "Yeah, sure, I'll take my turn."

      Kirstin grinned. "Good. It's about time we got the 

  front seat."

  (3316)



























                           14





                   CHAPTER II- TRAVELING

 

      He shifted, coming half-awake, aware first of the 

  others' steady breathing around him. A breath of fresh, cold 

  air whispered across his face and Paul raised his head, 

  seeing faint light where the tent flap had come undone. 

  Wearing only underwear in the insulated military sleeping 

  bag he didn't want to get up, but his bladder made the 

  choice for him. And his mouth tasted like something had 

  crawled in and died there, stomach unsettled after six beers 

  around the campfire the previous night. Kirstin's supper of 

  ham sandwiches and beans came back to life as he sat up, 

  fumbling with the bag's zipper, the farts sounding as loud 

  as gunshots to his embarrassed ears. __At least I'm the only 

  one awake,_ he consoled himself. __They all had beans too, 

  so I'm not alone.

  __  Shivering the cold breeze that swept in, feeling 

  goosebumps break out the moment his skin left the sleeping 

  bag's warmth, Paul quickly yanked on yesterday's jeans, 

  sweatshirt, and sneakers. Once up, he stepped outside, 

  retied the tent flap loosely, and hurried to water a nearby 

  bush after making sure no one was in sight. _May as well 

  stay up, __he decided. __It's just past dawn, so I'll start 

  the coffee and that'll get the others up.

      _The cool, gusty wind caressed his bare ankles and 

  unprotected neck as he rummaged in the Cherokee's rear 

  compartment, finally locating the battered tin pot and 

  plastic jar of instant coffee. He poked up the banked 

  campfire, got wood from a stack on the side of the tent, and 


                           1





  stirred it with a charred stick until flames blazed up. 

  Sitting on a good-sized rock, waiting for the fire to burn 

  down to embers, he looked around. It had been dark when 

  they'd finally found the remote campsite, setting up the 

  tent in the halogen glow of the truck's headlights. Now he 

  got a good look at where they were camped, and decided that 

  just the view this morning was worth all the trouble the 

  night before.

      From his hilltop vantage point, Paul looked down over 

  rolling hills of unbroken forest, sheer wild trees for as 

  far as his eyes could see, while in the distance was pale 

  bluish mountains like blunted shark's teeth on the far 

  horizon, their tops hazy. Then, looking back toward the main 

  body of the campgrounds which was built on the flat top of 

  the hill, he saw a small lake, or large pond, with a small 

  hand-lettered sign in French and English reading: DO NOT 

  DRINK. NO SWIMMING. It was only a few feet away from where 

  they'd camped, and beyond it was a clustered area of tents, 

  RV's, and car/trailer combos surrounding the red brick 

  lavatory buildings. They had unanimously agreed to camp on 

  the outskirts, away from the main concentration of people. A 

  few others were also up, he saw, one elderly couple taking 

  down the awning that hung out from their old-fashioned, 

  silvery Jetstream trailer, while children played on the 

  modular wooden playset near the building.

      Seeing that the fire was almost ready, he picked up the 

  dented metal coffeepot and walked to the spigots, and when 

  he returned, Kirstin was just stepping from the tent, 

  yawning widely. "You're up early," she commented, stretching 


                           2





  until the bones in her back popped.

      Paul set the pot in the red embers, slightly annoyed at 

  having the peaceful solitude of the morning interrupted. But 

  the others would be up soon, anyway, as the brats on the 

  playset were starting to get loud. "Yeah, the tent flap came 

  undone and woke me up. Coffee'll be ready soon."

      "Sounds good to me," she looked around, then hurried 

  off to the restrooms. "Be right back."

      Grinning, Paul remembered her crack from the day before 

  and reflected on how lucky he was that he hadn't had to hold 

  it and go all that way. As she walked away, he couldn't help 

  but watch the natural, unconsciously provocative sway of her 

  slender hips, clad in the snug grey sweatpants she'd slept 

  in. She'd lost a lot of weight in the last year, he realized 

  suddenly. Kirstin had been pudgy since he'd known her, and 

  the fact that she now had a figure made him a little 

  uncomfortable. She was a pal, a buddy, his cousin's live-in 

  girlfriend, and he didn't like seeing her as a woman all of 

  a sudden. Her incentive to finally lose weight, she'd told 

  him, was that she wanted to be able to wear comfortable 

  clothes on this trip and not look like a cow. __He __had no 

  such problem; between weed, speed, and the occasional snort 

  of coke, he kept in fighting trim.

      Eric and Scott emerged from the six-man Army tent, 

  rubbing eyes and yawning. "What time is it?"

      "About six-thirty, seven."

      Eric poked at the fire with the stick Paul had used 

  earlier, grumbling, "Takes forever for the fucking water to 

  boil. I'm used to my timer coffeepot at home, has it ready 


                           3





  when I get up."

      They looked up as Kirstin appeared around the pond, her 

  flat but soft belly showing as her hooded pullover 

  sweatshirt was being used as a basket for several lumpy, 

  unnameable objects. Paul hurried to help her as she grinned, 

  "That old couple over there gave us this fruit. Said we have 

  to be regular to be happy."

      Paul took a large pink grapefruit and two bananas from 

  her, and she passed out apples, pears, and peaches as well, 

  keeping a peach and grapefruit for herself. By the time 

  they'd finished the unexpected but welcome breakfast the 

  water was boiling and Paul poured and passed around plastic 

  Tupperware mugs of instant coffee. 

      The level of noise from the campgrounds rose as the sun 

  did, bringing a flawless summer day. Before eight o'clock 

  they'd struck camp and were on the road, passing through 

  Thunder Bay.

      They had planned to camp near Regina that night, but 

  made such good time that they went on to Saskatoon. Shortly 

  after pitching their tent and setting up the Coleman stove, 

  they had unexpected visitors.

      Kirstin was struggling with a military can opener when 

  a deep voice said suddenly, "Hey, girl, remember us?"

      She whirled around, splashing liquid from the half-open 

  can of beans on her shorts, to see an elderly couple 

  standing behind her. After a moment she recognized them: 

  they'd given her the fruit that morning. "Oh, yeah, hi... 

  sorry, I didn't catch your names..?"

      "I'm Randy Lequire and this's my wife Marie," the old 


                           4





  man said, extending a calloused, leathery hand. Kirstin 

  shook it after unobtrusively wiping her hand on the side of 

  her already-stained denim shorts. Paul and Eric, who had 

  been pounding in tent pegs, came over and more introductions 

  were made. 

      "My boyfriend, Scott Oakes, went into town to get some 

  more hot dog buns," Kirstin added, shrugging. "Can't 

  remember everything."

      They were definitely an odd couple, Eric mused as they 

  talked with them. Randy Lequire was tall with wiry muscle, 

  barely stooped despite obviously being in his seventies, 

  with a full head of silvery-grey hair beneath a faded 

  __Outdoor Life__ cap that was pushed far back on his head, a 

  thick grey beard falling halfway down his chest. Marie was 

  tiny, maybe five feet tall, wizened, with wispy 

  lavender-blue hair done up in tight ringlets. She was as 

  quiet as her husband was garrulous. "So you young people are 

  drivin' to Alaska, that right?" The old man boomed. "Good 

  trip, good trip. Lots of scenery, interesting people. You 

  fish?"

      "We sure do," Eric grinned. "We're just waiting for a 

  chance at some big Northern pike or muskie."

      "Well, if you're interested, I know of a lake where the 

  pike get big enough to pull you in with 'em."

      Eric's brown eyes glinted behind the gold-rimmed 

  glasses. "Yeah?"

      "Yeah. You taking Route 16 up to the Alaska Highway?"

      "Uh-huh, then up Route 2 into Fairbanks," Paul said.

      Just then Scott drove up, the rays of the dying sun 


                           5





  flashing off what of the Cherokee wasn't covered in dust and 

  mud, which was just about only the windows. "Nice truck," 

  Marie commented, the first thing she'd said.

      "It's a rental," Kirstin explained. "None of us could 

  afford to own it. We could barely afford this trip, even 

  chipping in together."

      Scott got out of the truck and slammed the driver's 

  door, tossing a paper sack to her. "Damned Canucks," he 

  snarled, ignoring their visitors. "Charged me five American 

  dollars for that because I didn't have any of __their 

  __currency- you forgot to give me the Canadian money, Eric, 

  and all I had was American dollar bills."

      Gritting her teeth, holding the paper bag, Kirstin 

  gritted out, "Scott, this is Randy and Marie Lequire, fellow 

  travellers. My boyfriend, Scott Oakes."

      "Hi," he said shortly, kicking off his tennis shoes and 

  going to rummage in the back of the Cherokee. "How long 

  before dinner's ready?"

      "Not long," Kirstin replied, feeling her face burn at 

  his rudeness. 

      But Randy's faded blue eyes were kind on her. "Anyways, 

  listen up. Me an' Marie, we been traveling for near on ten 

  years, ever since I retired. Best fishing country in the 

  world is, maybe, a couple of hours off your route. Ever 

  heard of the MacKenzie River or Great Bear Lake? No? You got 

  a map handy?"

      Paul got their Rand-McNally atlas from the truck and 

  the five of them clustered around where he laid it on the 

  Cherokee's dusty front hood. "We're here," Randy said, 


                           6





  laying a gnarled finger on Saskatoon. "You might wanna take 

  this way, up through Alberta, to Fort Simpson. Land's a 

  little rough, but nothing your truck can't handle. Ain't no 

  more highway after Fort Simpson, but most of the roads are 

  paved or at least graded. You got fishing permits and all 

  that?"

      Paul nodded. "And enough tackle and lures to sink the 

  Titanic again."

      "Good, good. There's a ferry to cross the river there, 

  and you can start fishing anywhere along the river and 

  you'll take some nice fish. But if you want to catch some 

  monsters, and I mean _monsters, _go on up to Great Bear 

  Lake. Takes four-five hours one way. Campgrounds're near 

  Fort Franklin, there."

      "Umm... that's up in the Northwest Territories," 

  Kirstin noted. "That's 'way off our route. We've only got 

  three weeks for this trip, then it's back to work."

      Randy shrugged massive shoulders, the silver-grey beard 

  rippling. "There's good fishing along your route, but 

  nothing like those far north monsters. Hardly anybody goes 

  up there 'cept for rich fly-ins and guides."

      "We'll consider it," Kirstin said diplomatically, 

  glancing back at Scott, who was studiously ignoring them as 

  he carted supplies and bedding into the tent.

      "You do that," Randy said with an understanding grin. 

  "Now, 'fore I got sidetracked, we came over to invite you 

  all to dinner. Caught some nice grayling and pike in Lake 

  Manitoba today, more'n me and Marie can eat, and I don't 

  like to freeze fish. Loses that good fresh flavor."


                           7





      "I'll come," Eric agreed without hesitation, and Paul 

  added, "Me too, thanks."

      "Let me go ask Scott." Kirstin ducked into the tent to 

  find her man sprawled on the ground cover, rolled sleeping 

  bags nearby, hands behind his head. "Do you-"

      "I heard," he grumbled, eyes staring unseeingly at the 

  center line above him. "So I went and got those fucking buns 

  for nothing."

      "No..." she said slowly, unsure of his mood. He'd been 

  fine when he'd left to go to the store, and she wondered 

  what'd happened. "We can have the hot dogs for lunch or 

  dinner tomorrow. Randy says he's got fresh-caught fish."

      "You go ahead. I'll stay here."

      Kirstin took a deep breath and willed herself not to be 

  annoyed. "You're invited too, and I wish you'd come. Randy 

  reminds me of my grandpa."

      "Don't feel like it."

      Kirstin's equally volatile temper snapped at his obtuse 

  attitude. "Fine, OK, you want to feel sorry for yourself and 

  play martyr, go ahead and stay here alone, but I'm going and 

  so is Paul and Eric."

      Outside, Paul and Eric exchanged worried glances at the 

  sound of her raised voice. When she came out of the tent, 

  eyes flashing and face flushed, Eric said, "We don't __have 

  __to go, you know."

      Kirstin realized that the Lequires had left while she 

  was in the tent, and felt free to snap, "Fuck his stupid 

  attitude. He wants to lay around and feel sorry for himself, 

  so be it. He's not ruining _my _vacation." She swept up the 


                           8





  half-open can of beans and the bag of buns, taking them to 

  the truck, then grabbed her blue sweatjacket out of the back 

  seat. "You guys ready, or do I go by myself?"

      Laughter rang out around the Lequire's campfire that 

  night as Randy finished telling a racy Frenchman joke. 

  Kirstin wiped at her teary eyes with her fingers as Paul 

  laid another log on the fire, a spiral of deep reddish-gold 

  sparks floating up into the black velvet sky. "All right, 

  I've got a good one. What d'ya call a mushroom that 

  parties?"

      "I dunno. Give."

      "A fun-gi."

      "Huh? Oh, yech, Paul, that was awful," Kirstin wrinkled 

  her nose. "I know a better one. What does a balloon and a 

  virgin have in common?"

      "What?"

      "One prick and they're gone."

      Groans all around. Marie snickered behind one hand. The 

  shy woman didn't say much, but she was nonetheless a part of 

  the group, laughing at the off-color jokes, her presence 

  deterring really raunchy ones. Next Eric spoke up. "Okay, 

  what's the difference between a rooster and a hooker?"

      "I know that one," Randy grinned. "The rooster says 

  cock-a-doodle-doo, and the hooker says any cock'll do." More 

  groans and rolling of eyes. Marie poked her husband with her 

  elbow, but she was smiling. He puffed his chest out and 

  said, "I've got the funniest dirty joke in the world. Takes 

  a little while to tell, but it's worth it..."

      Eric's mind wandered during the long story. There 


                           9





  wasn't much in life that got better than this, he thought. 

  Outdoors, away from the daily grind, around people he didn't 

  have to intimidate in his job as security guard or impress 

  for a promotion. The only bummer of the evening was Scott's 

  sudden attitude, which none of them understood. Eric saw why 

  he would get pissed when Kirstin was whining to stop while 

  they were on the road, but not now. Especially when he'd 

  missed out on one of the best fish dinners Eric had ever 

  had.

      Randy wound up the long joke with, "And then he 

  farted!" which brought mixed laughter and groans. "Well, I'm 

  afraid it's time for us old folks to turn in," he added, 

  rising from his crosslegged position with a litheness that 

  belied his words. "Been good having you young people 

  around."

      "Thank you so much for the dinner, Randy, Marie," 

  Kirstin said as she unfolded her legs and stood, stretching. 

  "I had a really good time, and the food was the best." The 

  guys echoed her thanks.

      "We enjoyed having you," Marie said quietly. "You take 

  care on the road, now. There's bad as well as good out 

  there."

      "We sure will," Eric agreed. "Maybe we'll run into you 

  again."

      "No, I'm afraid not. We're turning south from here, 

  heading to Seattle to see our daughter and grandchildren. 

  Good fishin' to you."

      As they walked through the dark, quiet campgrounds, 

  Kirstin between the two men, she asked quietly, "Either of 


                           10





  you guys know what's eating Scott?"

      "I have no idea," Eric's voice came from her left. "I 

  was wondering about that myself."

      "I don't know for sure, but I _think _it might be 

  because we made friends with the Lequires," Paul offered. 

  "But why, I dunno."

      "Maybe..." Kirstin's voice trailed off. "I'm wondering 

  if he's already bored with this trip. He wasn't as wild 

  about it as we were."

      Eric nodded, glancing down at her. She was only a 

  shadow in the dark. "It's possible. You want me to ask him?"

      "No, not yet. Wait until tomorrow. If he's still being 

  an asshole then take and pound his head on some rocks, knock 

  some sense into him."

      Snorted, muted laughter, then Paul said, "What d'ya 

  say, guys? Wanna get high?"

      "Yeah, why not."

      "You know it. Got any rolled?"

      "No, I was gonna pull out Bomber."

      "You brought it?!" Kirstin punched Paul in the arm. 

  "Son of a bitch!"

      "Bomber" was a two-foot-long glass pipe decorated with 

  old WWII airplanes, the tube and bowl stained black from 

  nearly two years' worth of marijuana residue. One good hit 

  off it meant an instant buzz. Paul had wrapped it carefully 

  in a towel and hid it deep inside Eric's military duffel 

  bag. Though he owned it, he kept it either at Eric's 

  apartment or Scott's house because if his mother ever found 

  it, then there went thirty bucks down the drain not to 


                           11





  mention the fact that she'd probably kick him out.

      They crowded into the tent and Paul dug out and cradled 

  the pipe in his arms like a baby. Kirstin lit one of the 

  brass and glass hurricane lanterns and carried it in, 

  surprised to see that Scott's sleeping bag was flat and 

  empty. "Where the hell is he?" she asked no one in 

  particular, her voice obviously concerned. She'd assumed 

  he'd be in the tent, sulking or asleep.

      "Probably went out for a walk," Eric suggested.

      "Yeah, I bet he rolled a joint and went out walking," 

  Paul agreed. "He's got his own stash."

      The young woman sighed as she sprawled out on her 

  unrolled sleeping bag, laying on her side with her head 

  propped on one arm. "I hope he's okay."

      Paul filled and lit the pipe, his arm out straight its 

  length to cover the shotgun hole at the end. They passed it 

  around three or four times, then Kirstin choked trying to 

  hold smoke in her lungs and, coughing, waved her hands in 

  front of her face. "I've had enough."

      "Yeah, me too," Eric agreed. "It's making me sleepy, 

  and I hate to waste good dope."

      "Wimps! Wussies! Can't take it!" 

      Eric made an obscenely suggestive gesture. "Suck on 

  this, asshole."

      "You ain't got nothing there but imagination, 

  dickface."

      Kirstin giggled at their familiar verbal sparring. Then 

  she sobered, wondering where Scott was. She interrupted 

  Eric, who was inviting his buddy to bend over and take on 


                           12





  what he thought was imagination, to suggest, "Maybe we 

  should go looking for Scott."

      "Where? How're we gonna find him?"

      "Yeah, it's too damned dark out there. No moon tonight. 

  He'll come back when he's good and ready."

      Kirstin got up, grabbing the brass lantern by its wire 

  handle. "I'm going to look for him anyway."

      "Come on, Kirsty! Where you gonna look?" Paul got up 

  too, Eric rising to stand half-bent over beside him.

      "Goddammit, don't call me that. You know I don't like 

  it. I'll just walk around the grounds. Even if I don't find 

  him I'll feel better for having tried. Maybe if he sees me 

  with the lantern he'll realize I'm worried about him."

      "All right, all right, I'll go with you. Just let me 

  get my jacket; it's getting chilly out there." Eric ducked 

  out of the tent, Kirstin and Paul following. Though the 

  summer night was balmy, there was a cool, gusting breeze 

  that brought goosebumps to exposed skin. Kirstin reached for 

  the passenger door of the Cherokee to get the flashlight, 

  paused, then raised the lantern, pointing inside. Scott was 

  curled into a tight fetal position, snoring, in the back 

  seat.

      "Should we wake 'im up?"

      "No," Kirstin murmured, relieved, lowering the lantern. 

  "Let him wake up stiff and looking like Quaismado. Teach him 

  a lesson."

      But back inside the tent, she had second thoughts. No 

  matter how much he trusted her, Scott wouldn't like it if 

  she slept in the tent with the other two while he was out in 


                           13





  the car. So, with a sigh, she told Eric and Paul that and 

  went to wake him up.

      All it took was opening the door. The overhead light 

  glared on and Scott threw an arm up over his eyes, 

  grimacing. "What the fuck?"

      "C'mon, babe, you're not sleeping in the truck all 

  night," Kirstin reached in and shook his leg. 

      "Turn that fucking light off," he growled. "Get in."

      She hesitated--she wasn't sleeping in the truck--then 

  complied. He swung his legs down and sat up as she got in, 

  the light going off as she closed the door. He rubbed at his 

  eyes and ran his fingers through his long, 

  past-the-collar-length hair. "You coming to the tent?"

      "Hang on. You know something?" He turned to look at 

  her, his eyes glinting in the darkness. She looked back 

  wordlessly, cocking her head curiously. His tone was no 

  longer angry, but somehow different. "We haven't made love 

  in three days, you know that?"

      Kirstin grinned. "Yeah, I was beginning to notice."

      "Are those two asleep?"

      "They were getting ready to go to bed when I came out 

  here to get you up."

      "Think they'll come out here if you don't go back?" 

  Scott slid over, putting one arm around her shoulders, the 

  other hand caressing one hard-nippled breast. "I've been 

  missing you, woman."

      "I don't care if they do," she murmured, raising her 

  face to his. "I don't think we'll notice... or care."

  (3566)


                           14





                 CHAPTER III- THE ACCIDENT

                              

      At noon the next day they arrived in Edmonton, Alberta. 

  Unanimously they agreed to have lunch in a restaurant, and 

  found a small family diner on the outskirts, just off the 

  highway. Though they had showered and changed into clean 

  clothes at the campgrounds that morning, Kirstin still felt 

  grungy and sweaty after five hours on the road. There were 

  few people in the diner, though: a brightly-dressed 

  middle-aged couple who probably belonged to the North Dakota 

  plates on a Cadillac outside, a man in a rumpled suit who 

  had traveling salesman __written all over him, and a teenage 

  boy playing a __Mario Brothers video game __out in the 

  foyer.

      They seated themselves as a sign asked, choosing a 

  corner booth flanked by massive picture windows. The decor 

  was unobtrusive, comfortable. Fake brickwork covered the 

  walls, the trim and vinyl backing on chairs and booths in 

  reddish-brown. Large familiar plants and leaded-glass lamps 

  hung at intervals over and between the tables and booths. 

  Nicest of all, Kirstin thought, was the framed line-sketch 

  prints of Canadian wildlife.

      Paul lit one of his rare cigarettes, which he only 

  smoked when bored or waiting. A waitress walked up, smiling, 

  carrying a tray with glasses of ice water and menus on it. 

  "Hello, strangers," she said as she passed them out. "I'm 

  Donna. Where you from?"

      "Michigan," Paul said, then sipped at his water, 

  thirsty after the cigarette smoke.


                           1





      "We're driving to Alaska and back," Scott offered, his 

  temper much improved this day.

      "Wow! What a drive! Well, I'll give you five to decide 

  and then I'll be back, okay?"

      Kirstin skimmed the menu, immediately deciding to have 

  the house specialty, breaded pork chops. Paul, she knew, 

  would invariably get a cheeseburger, the only thing she'd 

  ever known him to order in any restaurant, be it McDonald's 

  or Ponderosa. "What're you gonna have, Scott?"

      "The veal parmisan, I think. How about you?"

      "Pork chop dinner. How can you eat veal, Scott, knowing 

  how they treat the calves to make it?"

      Eric interrupted a brewing argument he'd heard many 

  times before. "I'm going to try the catfish dinner." Then 

  Donna returned, took their orders, and disappeared through 

  the swinging doors that led to the kitchen. He swept the 

  others with a stern gaze, and said, "So, people, what're we 

  going to do? We've got to decide now. Take Randy's route or 

  go on with our plans?" He was continuing a discussion they'd 

  been having the last few hours on the road.

      Paul pulled a dog-eared map out of his back jeans 

  pocket and held it up. "I found this stuck in the atlas. 

  It's a close-up of Alaska, the Yukon and Northwest 

  Territories." He folded it to show the latter two.

      "It's mine," Kirstin interjected. "I used it to chart 

  our route part of the way."

      "It doesn't show where we are, exactly, but here's 

  Route Ten to the Alaska Highway to Fairbanks. If we take 

  Randy's route, we turn north onto the MacKenzie Highway 


                           2





  __here, _and that's less'n an hour away."

      "If we go that way, there's campgrounds near Meander 

  River for tonight. I checked," Kirstin said.

      Donna delivered their coffees and sodas, then Scott put 

  his hand out for the map. "Let me see. How far out of our 

  way is it?"

      "Not too much, actually," Eric said. "If the fishing's 

  as good as the old man said, I'd be willing to forget 

  Fairbanks and camp at that lake for a week before heading 

  back."

      "Well, __I __for one want to see some mountains close 

  up, as in __in __them," Kirstin spoke up. "And I'd like to 

  be able to say I went to Alaska."

      Scott was bent over the map, one finger tracing roads. 

  Paul added, "I think we should go there and see how good 

  this lake is before we decide whether or not to go on to 

  Alaska."

      "Maybe we could just plan to spend one night in 

  Fairbanks instead of a weekend," Eric suggested.

      Scott looked up from the map. "I agree with Paul. Let's 

  try Great Bear Lake and take it from there."

      Donna walked up with a huge oval tray. "Who gets the 

  cheeseburger and onion rings?"

      "__He __does," Kirstin, Scott, and Eric chorused, 

  pointing to Paul, who just grinned and shrugged.



      As they traveled north the rest of the day, the gentle 

  rolling hills became steadily steeper. The scenery was 

  magnificent, vistas of wooded green hills and sapphire 


                           3





  lakes. Kirstin was taking her turn driving, uneasy because 

  she still wasn't used to the truck's size, not to mention 

  the clutch. They were still climbing and would soon be 

  entering the mountains, and she was too damned busy watching 

  the twisting road and remembering to shift to see much of 

  the gorgeous scenery.

      Eric had his camera out, a new Nikon AutoFocus, but he 

  wasn't taking very many pictures since he wasn't sure if 

  they'd come out from being taken from a moving vehicle.

      Scott was curled up in the front seat, mostly asleep, 

  waking briefly when his head bounced off the window. He'd 

  crack his eyes, glare at Kirstin, mumble something about 

  shifting sooner, then doze off again.

      Paul was torn between watching the scenery and 

  daydreaming, especially when Journey's _Open Arms __came on 

  the radio. Sherri hadn't liked him going on this trip, 

  especially without her, but he was glad she'd never asked to 

  come along. She and Kirstin just barely got along as it was, 

  never mind spending three weeks together. And there'd been 

  no doubt that Kirstin was going, since it had been her idea 

  to drive to Alaska and back in the first place.

      He knew that the others thought Sherri was stupid, and 

  in a way she was. But it was more innocence, Paul suspected. 

  She was a good companion, quiet, undemanding, passive and 

  agreeable in bed. He didn't think he could put up with a 

  woman like Kirstin, who was strong-willed, temperamental, 

  tough, and had a mind of her own.

      "Paul, do me a favor?"

      "Yeah, Kirstin?" he snapped out of his reverie and 


                           4





  leaned foreward between the front bucket seats. 

      "Grab the map and see where the next rest stop is. My 

  ass is numb."

      He took the atlas from between the passenger seat and 

  console, letting the map drop out into his hand. "I 

  understand that. I wouldn't mind stopping, it's almost six. 

  Lesse... oh, about eight miles. We're almost to High Level, 

  aren't we?"

      "Yeah."

      "We're camping right outside Meander River tonight, and 

  that's another two, two and a half hours. I'll drive next if 

  you want."

      "I thought it was Scott's turn," Eric said, fiddling 

  with the camera.

      At the mention of his name, Scott roused, stretching 

  and yawning. "Doesn't matter to me."

      "Oh, look ahead," Kirstin said suddenly. "Son of a 

  bitch."

      They had topped a long, gentle grade and up ahead, 

  clearly visible against the blue peaks on the horizon, were 

  swollen black clouds. "Oh, shit, a thunderstorm." Eric said.

      Scott popped out the tape in the cassette deck and ran 

  through the dial until he found a news station. After 

  listening to local news and sports scores that they knew 

  nothing about, the weather finally came on. "For northern 

  Alberta and British Columbia, severe thunderstorm warnings. 

  Winds up to thirty kilometers an hour, hail and heavy rain 

  are being reported in Fort Laird and Fort Nelson. 

  Temperatures may drop into the low seventies for tomorrow 


                           5





  and Wednesday." As the messages were repeated in 

  French-Canadian, Scott angrily shoved the tape back in. 

  "Fuckin' great."

      Kirstin glanced over at him quickly before returning 

  her eyes to the road. "You didn't expect the weather to stay 

  perfect, did you?"

      "This won't be the first time we've pitched a tent in 

  the pouring rain," Paul reminded. "Remember Cheboygan three 

  years ago?"

      Eric groaned. "Don't remind me. Hey, Kirstin, there's 

  the sign for the rest area."

      "We stopping already?" Scott grumbled, unaware that 

  he'd slept during most of the past four hours' drive. They 

  ignored him; it seemed that his good mood was gone once 

  again.

      They threw up their tent in the Meander River 

  Campgrounds only moments before the storm hit. Scott and 

  Eric reinforced the tent with heavy rocks against the canvas 

  walls both inside and out. Kirstin lit both hurricane 

  lanterns, and they built a small fire beneath the smoke 

  hole, unzipping part of the ground cloth for that purpose.

      The storm howled and beat itself against the 

  waterproofed canvas tent, but the Cherokee provided 

  protection on one side and took away much of the wind's 

  fury. They played a couple hands of pinochle, but even with 

  the large-face cards and lanterns lit it was too dim to see. 

  Paul finally ran out to the truck and got their 

  battery-powered TV, but that wasn't much entertainment 

  either. There were only two stations, and one of them was in 


                           6





  French so that narrowed their choice considerably. The 

  English-language station was showing reruns of __Mork and 

  Mindy, and it was Eric who gave in first, crawling into his 

  sleeping bag. Kirstin and Paul went next, leaving Scott to 

  brood, staring unseeingly at the small, grainy 

  black-and-white screen.

      The storm hadn't let up by morning, in fact was a bit 

  worse. They were completely soaked by the time they'd gone 

  ten steps from the tent, since none of them had thought to 

  bring along an umbrella or slickers.

      Returning from the restrooms, they crowded back into 

  the tent. Kirstin broke out a box of Hostess donuts and 

  soda, and they sat eating their sugary breakfast in silence, 

  listening to the whisper of rain and whistling wind. Paul 

  wiped powdered sugar off his fingers and onto his jeans and 

  asked the question they were all wondering about: "Well, do 

  we lose a day here waiting for the rain to stop or go on?"

      Eric popped his knuckles, then picked up his bottle and 

  took a long drink.

      Scott kept his eyes on his can of Pepsi.

      Kirstin glanced around, sighed, and wondered if she 

  dared make her opinion known, because __she __wasn't driving 

  in this kind of storm.

      "I say we should wait the storm out in a motel," Paul 

  said suddenly. "I'd give my left nut for a real hot shower."

      That broke the tension. "If you're willing to give up a 

  ball, I'll chip in a tit," Kirstin giggled.

      "Oh no you don't!" Scott grinned grudgingly. "Those're 

  mine, too, y'know, by right of usage."


                           7





      "How much will a room--or rooms--cost us?" Eric asked. 

  "We're not rich, people."

      "I'd guess about sixty to eighty bucks a night for a 

  double," Kirstin offered. "One of us would have to sleep on 

  the floor, since me and Scott'll share a bed, but..." she 

  shrugged, waving one arm to indicate the sleeping bags. 

  "That's what __they're__ for."

      "Why don't we just go on?" Scott suggested. "I really 

  don't want to lose a day. I'm not worried about driving. I 

  drove back from Colorado in a freak April snowstorm. 

  Remember, Paul, when I came and got you from Colorado?"

      "Christ, how could I forget? I nearly shit when that 

  old van blew a tire on a downgrade in the snow."

      "And your sister screamed that we were all gonna die, 

  but we made it to the bottom and I changed the tire." Scott 

  smiled at the memory.

      "Okay, why not. Eric? Kirstin? You game?"

      Eric shrugged, and she sighed. "You made a hot shower 

  sound mighty good, but all right. But I won't drive."

      "Fair enough," Scott nodded. Her super-cautious 

  attitude when driving the Cherokee made him more nervous 

  than Paul's speeding, so that was fine with him. "Let's pack 

  up and get moving."

      They had lunch on the road, bologna sandwiches on hot 

  dog buns, Doritos, and soda. The storm continued to rage 

  around them, apparently moving north as they were. At three 

  o'clock they reached Fort Simpson and pulled into a roadside 

  diner.

      "Food. __Real __food," Kirstin said hopefully. "I've 


                           8





  had enough pop, bologna, donuts, and chips to last me a 

  lifetime. I want a cup of coffee and a full dinner."

      "Four hundred and twenty-one dollars left in the 

  treasury," Eric reported.

      "So maybe I'll have a cup of coffee and a hamburger."

      "Pullin' my tricks?" Paul teased.

      "To save money, yeah," Kirstin grinned at him. "C'mon, 

  let's go eat."

      This diner was much different than the one in Edmonton. 

  Rather than homey-comfortable, it was indifferently plastic, 

  with tired decor that looked as if it hadn't been changed 

  since the 'sixties- at least. The people inside were almost 

  unanimously dressed in galoshes, mackinaws, plaid shirts, 

  and faded jeans. They stared silently as the four travelers 

  entered. "Seat yerselves," a strident woman's voice called 

  as they stood uncomfortably in front of the door. A 

  waitress, hips swaying beneath a short, grease-stained pink 

  uniform, came around the long counter, its stools held down 

  by locals. "You Americans?"

      "Yeah, we're going up to Great Bear Lake," Eric said as 

  they sat down in the nearest booth. 

      "Not to many of you around here," she sniffed, pulling 

  out a stained green order pad. "Menu's on the board over 

  there. What d'you want?"

      "Big selection," Paul muttered to Kirstin, who sat 

  beside him. She nodded uneasily. Hamburger, cheeseburger, 

  hot dog, chili dog, french fries, onion rings, soup of the 

  day (barley beef) and pie (apple, lemon, or chocolate).

      They all ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and coffee. The 


                           9





  waitress sauntered away and Scott glanced around uneasily. 

  "I think we finally found the unfriendly Canucks Joe warned 

  me about."

      "Ssh!" Kirstin leaned over the scratched Formica 

  tabletop. "Chill out. Let's eat and get the hell out of here 

  before some three-hundred-pound truck driver decides your 

  hair's too long."

      Scott opened his mouth to retort, but Eric elbowed him 

  and he clammed up. Then the food came, and it was as awful 

  as they'd all feared. The fries tasted sour from rancid 

  cooking oil, the buns were hard, the cheese gluey, the meat 

  half-raw, and the tomato slice on Kirstin's burger was 

  mold-spotted. She didn't eat more than a few bites of 

  anything even after removing the tomato, and the only reason 

  she drank the thick, oily, heavily creamed and sugared 

  coffee was to kill her hunger. That it did quite 

  satisfactorily. Paul and Scott were the only ones who almost 

  finished their meals, since both of them were used to Paul's 

  mother's cooking, which was worse than this.

      Back in the truck, Kirstin popped open a can of Diet 

  Coke and took a long drink to kill the sour taste in her 

  mouth, then unrolled a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. "That had 

  to be the worst meal I've ever had the misfortune to set 

  eyes, much less my teeth, on," she announced through a 

  mouthful of tortilla chips as Eric pulled out onto the road.

      "You've never eaten at Aunt Sally's," Scott muttered.

      Paul ignored him, used to the gibes about his mother's 

  awful cooking. "Yeah, you're right, Kirstin. Is there any 

  bologna left?"


                           10





      "Amazement!" she said theatrically. "Never thought I'd 

  see the day _you'd __refuse hamburger!"

      "Well, yeah, when they forget to kill the cow first!"

      The ferry crossing a few minutes later was 

  nerve-wracking. The MacKenzie River was high and tossed 

  around the ancient, peeling old ferry, which was only big 

  enough to carry their truck and two cars. They stayed inside 

  the Cherokee during the short trip, afraid of being swept 

  off the barge's low sides by the bucking waves that washed 

  over.

      On the other side, Scott took over driving. The road 

  was unpaved and now a mass of mud, and after only a few 

  minutes he pulled off to the side. "Look, we're going to get 

  stuck. I say we go back and head for Fairbanks. Maybe we can 

  try this way coming back."

      "We'll have to backtrack almost two hundred miles to 

  get to the Alaska Highway," Paul said after consulting the 

  atlas. "That's going to lose us hours."

      "Isn't there a shortcut?" Scott said, annoyed more than 

  ever.

      Eric took the smaller, more detailed map. "Okay, if we 

  cross back over at the ferry, we can follow the South 

  Nahanni River partway, and there's a back road that leads 

  through the Franklin Mountains to Watson Lake, where we 

  should be able to pick up the highway. But I don't know, 

  Scott, it looks as rough as what we're on now."

      "Fuck it. Let's go," he said, turning the truck around 

  in the middle of the empty mud road. The second ferry 

  crossing was as bad as the first, but they made it across 


                           11





  the raging river safely and backtracked until they came on a 

  small, but graveled, dirt road that ran beside a smaller 

  river and said "S. Nahanni Road" on a small, hand-lettered 

  wooden sign. "That's it," Scott said, and turned off. Half 

  an hour or so later they came to a fork, and without 

  consulting the map he turned off onto the right-hand side. 

  No one noticed that the Cherokee's compass now read due 

  north instead of north-northwest, nor that there was 

  construction barricades pushed off to one side of the road.

      The slashing rain and howling wind grew worse, the 

  Cherokee's tough suspension bouncing over potholes in the 

  road and throwing muddy spray up on the windows. "Maybe we 

  should pull over for a while," Kirstin said nervously, 

  concerned, peering through the windshield. The fast-moving 

  wipers still gave only quick glimpses of the road, which was 

  now taking them into the MacKenzie, not Franklin, mountains, 

  though they didn't know that. "It looks pretty treacherous 

  ahead, what I can see of it."

      Scott shot her an annoyed look. "If I can't handle it, 

  I'll pull over. There's no traffic so I can go as slow as I 

  want."

      But as the foothills grew into unmistakable mountains, 

  the road now winding around instead of going over the peaks, 

  even Scott began to get nervous. An hour passed, then two, 

  and still they saw nothing indicating that they were through 

  the short stretch of mountains. Several times the road wound 

  around an open side, gaping gorges and valleys appearing 

  hundreds of feet below. "I'll pull over as soon as the 

  road's wide enough," he finally told Kirstin, palpably 


                           12





  feeling her fear as well as his own, which was growing.

      She sighed with relief, but following an urge, made 

  sure her safety belt was tight around both hips and chest, 

  snuggling it down as tightly as she could. "Thanks. I don't 

  like this at all."

      Anger flared. "You think I do?" Scott snapped, 

  unconsciously stepping down on the accelerator. "Why don't 

  you shut your fucking mouth so I can concentrate?"

      They came up on a steep upgrade that twisted down the 

  other side of a tall, narrow peak. There was no fence, guide 

  wire, or even posts with reflectors to mark the dropoff, 

  which fell over three hundred feet straight down into a 

  brushy gorge. What they couldn't see was that just around 

  the turn, the road was washed away completely, had been for 

  years, which was why the road had been sectioned off until 

  earlier, when construction crews had removed the barriers in 

  preparation to fix it. The rain had stopped that, but they'd 

  forgotten to put the sawhorses back.

      "Hey, slow down!" Paul yelled, releasing his seat belt 

  and leaning between the seats. "The road- shit! Turn! _Turn 

  right!"

      __Scott pumped the brakes, terror shooting through his 

  body. He turned the wheel and the truck slewed to the side, 

  one rear tire spinning in thin air. Kirstin was too 

  terrified to even scream, grabbing the dash, as they slid 

  sideways. And kept going, plunging down into brush, then 

  over the edge and into space.

  (3144)



                           13





                     CHAPTER IV-COPING

                              

      Slowly he became aware of a crushing pain in his ribs. 

  Trying to move brought bolts of agony throughout his entire 

  body and he lay still again, barely breathing. Opening his 

  eyes, he saw nothing but featureless black, and for some 

  time lay wondering who and where he was, and if he was blind 

  or if it was nighttime.

      Then a familiar voice moaned nearby and the sound 

  brought flashes of memory back to him: heavy pouring rain, a 

  high mountain road, the truck sliding, its wheel 

  unresponsive in his sweaty hands. Without thinking, he tried 

  to sit up and involuntarily cried out as paralyzing agony 

  ripped through every muscle and bone in his battered body, 

  and mercifully lapsed into oblivion again.

      "Scott? Paul? Eric?" Kirstin's weak voice echoed. "You 

  guys there? You OK?"

      "Yeah... yeah, I think I'm all right. Ohhh... shit, no, 

  my arm's hurt," Paul's voice moaned.

      A low groan sounded. "Paul? Kirstin? What... oh Jesus, 

  we went off the road! How bad are you hurt, Paul? My head 

  hurts, but I think I'm okay. I had my seat belt on." The 

  sound of rustling clothes, movement in the dark.

      "Scott? __Scott! __Oh, god, no!"

      "Kirstin, calm down right now," Eric commanded, 

  unconsciously taking command of the situation, pushing his 

  askew glasses straight on his nose. "Paul, can you get to 

  your lighter?"

      "Can't... can't reach it. I can't move my arms. I think 


                           1





  I'm pinned between the seats or something."

      "Okay, then, hold still. Don't move." Eric's 

  authoritive voice was a steadying influence, comforting and 

  supporting at the same time. "Kirstin, how about you? Can 

  you move? Don't if it hurts too badly."

      "Aah- shit- I'm still buckled in, tightly." She 

  groaned. "Got one hell of a burn on my neck and my gut 

  hurts, but I think I'm all right."

      "Then get out of the seat belt. Reach out and feel 

  along the dash until you find the steering-"

      "Scott's breathing! I can feel his breath, Eric!"

      "Don't touch him! Don't move him, Kirstin. If he's got 

  a neck or spinal injury you could make it worse. Just get 

  the lights on."

      "I'm trying... shit, that hurts," she cried out 

  suddenly. Then, "I think I got it. Shield your eyes."

      Dazzling brilliance blinded them momentarily, then 

  Kirstin's scream deafened them. __"Scott- oh my god NO!"

      _Still shading his eyes with one hand, Eric pulled 

  himself between the bucket seats. Scott hadn't been wearing 

  his seat belt even though it was mandatory in Canada and had 

  hit the dash and steering wheel repeatedly, and was covered 

  in blood from the top of his head to his lap. "Calm down, 

  goddammit! Panicking will only make it worse!"

      Kirstin huddled against the passenger door, whimpering 

  in horror, fists pressed against her mouth. Her wide eyes 

  stood out like shiny greenish-gray marbles against her 

  colorless skin.

      Paul was curled in the footwell behind the driver's 


                           2





  seat, thankfully wedged in there tightly, Eric thought. 

  Otherwise he might've been hurt worse, bouncing around 

  inside the truck. One arm was bent behind him, the shoulder 

  bulging oddly. His face was as white as Kirstin's, blue eyes 

  filled with pain and fear as he stared wordlessly up at him. 

  Eric __knew he was the only one prepared to meet this 

  emergency with his military training, but he had no idea of 

  what to do now. __Upon arriving at the scene of an accident, 

  do not move any victims, but treat for shock if possible. 

  __But what did a victim do for other victims? Treat himself 

  for shock first? Or ignore his own pain and help them, when 

  he could be severely hurt with internal injuries and never 

  know it until he dropped dead?

      Eric calmed himself and ran his hands over his body. 

  His midsection was sore from the seat belt, and a red mark 

  ran across his belly, but there was no pain when he pressed 

  down on his abdomen. Well, there was no help for it; there 

  was no one else. _ Scott seemed to be hurt the worst, but 

  neither of the others appeared to be in shape to even help 

  themselves."Okay. Kirstin, you first. Can you open your 

  door?"

      Without taking her eyes from Scott's still, bloody 

  form, she turned and fumbled with the handle. "Yeah, it's 

  moving."

      "Wait, don't get out yet. I need you to-"

      _____"Eric," Paul breathed raggedly, "I gotta move. 

  This hurts like a motherfucker. Help me get up on the seat."

      "All right, but take it slow and easy. Don't move too 

  fast." He reached over and took ahold of his friend on 


                           3





  either side of his waist, being careful not to touch his 

  bulging shoulder. Slowly he helped him get up on the seat 

  where Paul collapsed with a thin, whistling sigh of relief, 

  leaning on his left side, the other arm hanging limply. 

  "Kirstin, is the flashlight still clamped under the dash?"

      Cautiously she leaned forward, wincing at the pain in 

  her stomach, and grabbed the big black military flashlight, 

  then handed it back to him. Eric took it and aimed it out 

  the window, blinking in the flashback from the closed glass, 

  then peered out along its beam. All he could see was bushes 

  and trees pressed up against the truck. "It looks like we 

  landed in the middle of a goddamn forest. OK, Kirstin, try 

  to get out."

      The door hinges screed and groaned as she pushed at the 

  door, teeth gritted against the pain in her neck and 

  stomach, then shoved it open. Branches popped in, weeds 

  coming up to the level of the seat. She stepped out, 

  groaning involuntarily, brushing a leafy branch out of her 

  face and grabbing the top of the door for support as she 

  stood. "I'm OK."

      Eric shoved at his door and it creaked protestingly 

  open, making him wonder if the truck's unibody frame had 

  been damaged during the accident. He stood, his head 

  whirling briefly, then rotated his stiff neck. And froze, 

  staring up to his right.

      "Eric? What is it?" Kirstin asked half-fearfully.

        "Dawn. Fuck! It's almost dawn! We were out all night."

      She followed his gaze and, sure enough, the black 

  outlines of the surrounding trees were becoming visible 


                           4





  against a faintly lighter sky. "Well, now we know which way 

  east is."

      "Yeah, what a help. Can you get out, Paul, without 

  hurting your arm too much?"

      "Why?" he sulked. "Where in the hell are we going?"

      "Hey- we crashed and now we've got to cope until we're 

  rescued," Eric snapped back. "Or you going to lay there like 

  a wuss and not help us?"

      Kirstin was looking back inside the truck. "Eric... 

  we've got to do something for Scott," she said, her voice 

  quivery, wavering.

      "I'm going to get the first aid kit and a blanket out 

  of the back," he replied. "Help Paul get out if you can."

      He thrashed through the bushes to the back of the 

  truck, the flashlight beam wavering and bobbing. The rear 

  end had slammed hard on something, a boulder maybe, he saw, 

  and the passenger side rear tire was bent completely under 

  the body. But at least it didn't look as if it had rolled. 

  This truck isn't going anywhere. Hope the insurance covers 

  it, it's wasted. Don't think we'll get our deposit back, 

  though.

      He lowered the tailgate with some difficulty and shoved 

  a sleeping bag aside before climbing in. The first aid kit 

  was in his military duffel bag, but as he pulled it out he 

  realized just how little it was, and how little he knew 

  about using it. They might not be rescued for days, maybe 

  weeks. And if Scott was as badly hurt as he looked, then 

  that would be too late for him.

      When he'd fought his way back to the front, Paul was 


                           5





  leaning against the open rear door, Kirstin holding him up 

  on the other side. "Eric, look at his shoulder," she 

  quavered. "It's dislocated, isn't it?"

      "Looks like it, yeah, and maybe broken, too." Eric set 

  down the first aid kit and rolled sleeping bag he'd carried 

  back and began to trample down some of the heavy vegetation 

  surrounding them. "Why the fuck couldn't we have landed in a 

  clearing? Oh, shit, I almost forgot- the machete!" He went 

  back to the cargo area and dug out Scott's huge sharp jungle 

  machete, which he'd gotten in Honduras, and used it to clear 

  away most of the brush around the truck with little trouble. 

  He went back to where Paul and Kirstin were sitting just 

  inside the truck and said, "Paul, get out and sit down over 

  here. Kirstin, help me get Scott in the back seat where we 

  can stretch him out."

      Scott didn't rouse at all as they carefully moved him. 

  His pulse was weak, breathing shallow, but there was so much 

  blood--both dried and fresh--that Eric had no idea how badly 

  he was hurt. The sun had risen by the time they got him 

  stretched out in the back seat and covered with the sleeping 

  bag, and Eric paused to look around. Mountains rose all 

  around them--they were in a gully or narrow valley--while 

  the trees surrounding them were mostly pines with a few 

  deciduous trees thrown in, thick bushes and undergrowth 

  covering the ground. Broken trees and branches showed their 

  path down from high above where the truck had plunged off 

  the road, and they'd luckily landed in an area of saplings 

  and brush rather than trees, so he saw that he had some room 

  to work in. "Kirstin, first of all we've got to find water," 


                           6





  he told her. "You go north, I'll go south, and we'll meet 

  back here after fifty steps if we don't find any."

      "Wait! Eric, Scott could die while we're wandering 

  around looking for water! We've got to-"

      "Hey!" Eric grabbed her shoulders and gave her a little 

  shake. "We've done all we can for him now. We can't do 

  anything else without water- especially survive!"

      Kirstin took one last look at Scott's blood-caked face, 

  his body covered with her orange, yellow, and brown plaid 

  sleeping bag, before doing as Eric said. Deep in her heart 

  she already doubted if he would make it until rescue came. 

  Eric's point that it could be a week or more was difficult 

  to accept--she'd always assumed that if she was in a serious 

  car accident, there would be ambulances and police there to 

  take care of her almost immediately--but she realized that 

  they were in a vast, mostly unpopulated area. The Canadian 

  wilderness had swallowed up more experienced outdoorspeople 

  than they.

      Away from the truck, walking through the undergrowth 

  was a little easier since it wasn't smashed and matted down. 

  She slipped around and between the heavy bushes and 

  clutching vines, unconsciously drawing on years of hiking 

  and camping experience. Every few steps she paused, 

  listening carefully and sniffing the air, but couldn't 

  detect the sound or scent of water among the birdsong and 

  early morning dew. She wasn't sure how many steps she'd 

  come, but-

      "Hey, Kirstin, I found water! Come back!" Eric's voice 

  drifted to her on the cool, clear morning air. "Follow my 


                           7





  voice, and grab the coffeepot on the way back."

      She did as he said, glancing in at Scott as she passed, 

  noting that Paul appeared to be dozing in the front seat. 

  Eric had found a little stream that tumbled down the side of 

  a mountain and cascaded in a small waterfall that made a 

  small pool, then meandered off into the trees, about ten 

  feet from the truck. The pool was barely deep enough to dip 

  the old tin pot into, but the water was crystal-clear and 

  ice cold. They each took a deep drink from the lip of the 

  pot, suddenly realizing that they were thirsty, then 

  returned to the truck.

      Paul had stretched out on the front seat and was 

  asleep, breathing normally. "Let's clear out a firepit here 

  at the tailgate," Eric suggested. "You pull out the Coleman 

  stove and I'll dig. Once we've got water heated we'll clean 

  up Scott, see how bad he's hurt. Do you know how to reset a 

  dislocated shoulder?"   Kirstin paused before climbing into 

  the truck, turned and faced him angrily, hands on hips. 

  "Eric Czyski, you are out of your motherhumpin' mind! I 

  failed the Red Cross CPR test in junior high! I don't faint 

  at the sight of blood, but I have no fucking idea what to do 

  with someone who's hurt beyond a stubbed toe, either!"

      Eric couldn't help grinning, glad to see that her 

  spirit was back. Her odd apathy had worried him as much as 

  the others' injuries. "Okay, then, Nurse Warland, I'll tell 

  you what to do if you promise to help me."

      "Jesus, you make it sound as if we're getting married," 

  Kirstin snorted, unaware of how prophetic that statement 

  would turn out to be.


                           8







      They found that Scott's injuries were both worse and 

  not as bad as they'd feared. Most of the blood was from a 

  long but shallow gash along his hairline where the skin had 

  split on impact with the windshield or steering wheel, and a 

  bloody nose, which Eric thought was broken. But what worried 

  him the most was the vivid, pulpy, purple and black bruises 

  on his chest and torso from where he had, apparently, 

  bounced off the steering wheel repeatedly. Even deep in 

  unconsciousness he'd moaned and thrashed when Eric had tried 

  to carefully probe for broken ribs. Though he didn't say 

  anything to Kirstin, he was afraid that if Scott was torn up 

  badly inside, help couldn't come soon enough and if it did, 

  it might not do any good.

      Paul's only serious injury was the dislocated shoulder, 

  the arm unbroken as far as Eric could tell. He, Kirstin, and 

  Eric were all bruised up, but they ignored that for now. 

  Even several hours later Paul was still embarrassed that 

  he'd screamed when they'd struggled and finally popped the 

  joint back into the socket. Eric had rigged up a sling out 

  of three bandannas that supported both forearm and elbow. He 

  now sat near the Coleman stove, sipping at a cup of strong 

  black coffee that Kirstin had made. 

      Eric was sitting in the back seat, monitoring Scott's 

  breathing and pulse, while Kirstin took stock of their food 

  and supplies. He was wondering if Scott was in a coma, and 

  thinking that it might be merciful if he just slipped away 

  without ever waking up, when Kirstin walked up along the 

  side of the truck and announced, "Well, I think we've got 


                           9





  enough food for, maybe, two weeks. I'm glad we brought a lot 

  of canned shit- Vienna sausages, potted meat, tuna. How is 

  he?"

      Eric shrugged and laid Scott's arm back on the seat. 

  "The same, I guess." He turned to face her, and those clear 

  greenish-gray eyes drilled into him, brilliant in the shaft 

  of sunlight that fell through the trees. She was a mess, her 

  hair tangled, sweatpants and t-shirt stained, rumpled, and 

  green from fingertips to elbow from helping him clear 

  greenery away from the truck, but he had never noticed 

  before how strong of a woman she was. It was as if a window 

  in her soul had been opened to him and he glimpsed the core 

  of steel within her misleading soft woman's body. She 

  wasn't beautiful in the classic sense, but out here in the 

  wilderness he thought she might be more valuable than the 

  highest paid model. She could take the truth. "Come on, 

  let's walk," he said, getting out of the truck and catching 

  her hand. "He'll be okay for a few minutes, and I don't want 

  Paul to hear this."

      Kirstin was startled, so startled she almost forgot 

  about the slight, annoying abdominal cramps that had been 

  bothering her all day, but followed him. His hand was warm 

  and smooth, totally unfamiliar all of a sudden. They had 

  never touched before except in casual contact: mock 

  wrestling around, or squashed together in the front seat of 

  Paul's old Duster, which had no back seat. She sensed his 

  change in attitude toward her, but had no idea why.

      He led her a few yards into the forest, until the truck 

  was just out of sight. They sat down at the moss-covered 


                           10





  base of a massive, crusty, ancient tree, facing each other, 

  Eric still holding her hand. "Kirstin, you've got to know 

  the truth. It's going to hurt, so if you need to cry, go 

  right ahead."

      "Scott's going to die," she said flatly, looking 

  straight into his dark brown eyes.

      He nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I'm afraid so. Maybe if 

  we'd been able to get him to a hospital right away... 

  but..."

      "How about a signal fire?" she suggested. "They'll have 

  spotter planes out looking for us. We can clear out a big 

  enough area so we won't start a forest fire with it."

      "Look, no one's going to miss us until at least 

  Monday," he explained patiently, irked that she hadn't 

  figured this out for herself, "when we're supposed to check 

  in at the motel in Fairbanks. Did you ever call Lisa?"

      "Yeah, I called her last from the restaurant in 

  Edmonton."

      "Shit," he muttered. "It might be even longer before 

  we're missed. Two weeks, maybe."

      "Then all we can do is hope," Kirstin shrugged, still 

  looking openly at him. "And survive."

      Eric found himself wanting to hold her and comfort her, 

  though she didn't seem to need it at the moment. He let her 

  hand drop, suddenly conscious of the intimate contact with 

  his best friend's girl... especially when said friend was 

  dying at that very moment and probably wouldn't make it 

  through the night.

      Kirstin, too, backed away from the intimacy, though she 


                           11





  recognized his need for comforting human contact. But her 

  main concern was for Scott, and keeping up her facade of 

  strength and calm.



      Scott came out of unconsciousness again to floating 

  warmth. Vaguely recalling distant agony though he felt no 

  pain at the moment, he didn't move, but blinked away the 

  blurriness from his eyes and looked around as much as he 

  could without moving his head. There was a deep, nagging 

  ache in his chest, minute stabs of quick pain as he took 

  breaths. He realized that he was laying in the back seat of 

  the Cherokee, covered with something warm and heavy. I 

  wonder how bad I'm hurt, and where the hell we are. Heard 

  Kirstin's voice... I hope she's all right. And Eric and 

  Paul. Well, somebody took care of me, and I'm not in a 

  hospital.

      "Scott?! Kirstin, come here! He's awake!" Eric's 

  familiar face appeared in Scott's field of vision, upside 

  down above him. He felt fingers on his wrist. "Hey, how are 

  you feeling, buddy? Any pain?"

      He tried to speak but only croaked. "Hold on, man, I'll 

  get you some water, you must be dried out." Eric disappeared 

  to be replaced by Kirstin, tangled curly dark hair framing 

  her grimy face. "Babe... oh, babe," she struggled, caught 

  ahold of herself, and gently kissed him on the forehead. She 

  smelled strongly of woodsmoke and greenery. "Eric, bring the 

  bottle of Mediprin too. It's capsules, easier to swallow."

      He felt his head lifted and the welcome cold lip of a 

  plastic mug pressed against his mouth. He swallowed slowly, 


                           12





  carefully, the water tasting like ambrosia to his parched 

  mouth, and feeling it travel down to his empty stomach was 

  ecstasy. "That's better."

      "Where's it hurt?" Eric asked seriously. 

      "Chest, belly. Hurts like fuck whenever I take a 

  breath."

      "Broken ribs, probably," Eric frowned. "We thought so, 

  but you're so bruised up we didn't dare try to wrap them."

      "Where's Paul?" Scott asked, the effort making his deep 

  voice crack.

      "Eating. He had a dislocated shoulder, but he'll be 

  okay." Eric answered. He laid a cool hand on Scott's 

  forehead and swore. "Damn! Fever's starting up. I was afraid 

  of that. Wish to hell we had some antibiotics!"

      "I'll take a couple of those aspirin anyway," Scott 

  said weakly, feeling the ache in his chest intensify.

      Kirstin helped him take them, then said, "Get some more 

  sleep, babe. Eric's going to try climbing up to the road and 

  setting off flares. That should get somebody's attention; we 

  figured we can't be more than twenty miles from the river."

      "Hey, how long have we been here?"

      "Two nights and a day," Eric replied. "We're going to 

  make it, man. Don't worry."

      But as he let his exhausted mind sink into welcome 

  oblivion, he couldn't help but wonder why there was a naked 

  flash of fear on Eric's face even as he mouthed the 

  comforting words.

  (3426)



                           13





                      CHAPTER V- HOPE

                              

      Eric squared his shoulders, shifting the pack, and 

  craned his neck to look up the slope. "It's a long way," 

  Kirstin remarked, following his gaze. "Be careful, huh?" She 

  stifled the urge to hug him, instead stepping back.

      "Shouldn't be too hard if I'm careful," he tried to 

  shrug but couldn't because of the weight of the pack. 

  "There's brush all the way up for me to grab on to. I did 

  harder mountain climbing than this in Montana."

      "Okay. I'll be watching for your first signal flare, 

  nine sharp."

      "Yeah, if you can see it through these damn trees. 

  Remember, if I'm not back by day after tomorrow, shoot off a 

  flare every fifteen minutes for an hour after dark. If I 

  don't shoot one back, forget about me. I'm probably dead."

      "I wouldn't forget about you!" Kirstin said suddenly, 

  fiercely. Then, seemingly surprised at her outburst, she 

  turned and hurried back through the trees. 

      Eric looked after her for a moment, wondering, then 

  started up. The grade was gentle at first, but less than 

  half a mile up it became steep and rocky, loose ground 

  shifting underfoot. He had cut a five-foot length of thick 

  branch as a walking stick with the machete, which was hung 

  through his belt, and now begin to use it to brace himself 

  on.

      Wondering about Kirstin's weird actions, he carefully 

  skirted a poison ivy-covered bush. That must be driving her 

  insane, wondering about Scott, not being able to help him 


                           1





  hardly at all. And I think she was up most of the night with 

  him. Somebody's got to see these flares... if he doesn't get 

  some antibiotics soon the fever'll kill him before the 

  internal injuries do.

      Then his thoughts turned to Paul, who was acting 

  weirder than Kirstin. I wonder what's up with him. The way 

  he's been acting makes me wonder if he smacked his head on 

  something during the accident and knocked all the sense out 

  of it. Sits around and mopes, hardly says a word. We can't 

  afford to have him sulking. If help doesn't come and Scott 

  dies, we're going to have to hike out of here and all of us 

  are going to have to work together or we won't make it

      One foot, clad in an Army jungle boot, slid on loose 

  soil and he grabbed blindly for support. Holding onto the 

  swaying slender trunk of a sapling, he glanced back and saw 

  that he'd climbed at least a mile while engrossed in his 

  thoughts. And the ground was treacherous enough that one 

  slip could send him tumbling back down to break a leg or 

  smash his head open on a rock. He'd have to keep his mind on 

  climbing and not let it wander. 

      The slope became steadily steeper, Eric grabbing for 

  support or digging his stick in for leverage more often. The 

  sun was nearly overhead when he finally stopped to rest, 

  straddling an old fallen log, its dry bark hanging like a 

  half-shedded snakeskin. He shrugged off the pack, swinging 

  it around and on his lap, then froze, listening intently. 

  He'd heard something other than the usual forest noises that 

  he was already accustomed to. 

      There it was again- a fairly loud crunching, as if dry 


                           2





  branches were being stepped on or shouldered aside. His 

  heart began to pound audibly in his ears, making listening 

  difficult. Just a few feet below where he sat, a thick clump 

  of bushes he'd passed moved, rustling, and Eric wondered if 

  he had time to dig out the 9mm semi-automatic pistol hidden 

  in the bottom of his pack, doubly glad he'd brought it 

  along. But it wasn't loaded, the clips kept separate for 

  safety.

      A blunt, black-furred head poked around the side of the 

  waving bush. Eric stared, amazed and entranced, at the bear, 

  who stared back curiously. Its big, wet, black nose worked, 

  but its small eyes couldn't make out much as the object of 

  the odd smell didn't move, but sat frozen. Finally the bear 

  sneezed and wandered on, sniffing the air, grunting 

  discontentedly.

      Eric sat unmoving for some time, long after the sounds 

  of the bear's passage had died away. If I'd have had my gun 

  out and loaded we would have had bear steaks for dinner and 

  a bearskin as a ground cover for the tent. But it's out of 

  season, and I could get jail time for that if I got caught. 

  He finally dug out the tube of saltines and tin of Vienna 

  sausages he'd brought for lunch, his grumbling stomach a 

  constant reminder of the time. Wait... that damned bear 

  wasn't afraid of me! It acted like it didn't know what I 

  was. I know this's a remote area, but that remote? 

      Fifteen minutes later he resumed climbing. He was dried 

  out from the exertion and saltines, but he'd forgotten to 

  bring a canteen and hadn't seen water yet. His legs ached up 

  to the hips, thigh muscles beginning to quiver from the 


                           3





  strain. The pack, which contained only gun, ammo, food, 

  jacket, a change of clothes and a rolled Army blanket, no 

  longer seemed weightless but as if it was filled with rocks.

      "Got to find water," he mumbled to himself after a 

  while. Checking that the sun was still on his left, Eric 

  moved off course, now going away from his original path. The 

  stream he'd found near the truck flowed down the side of 

  this mountain so it should be ahead within a mile, tops.

      Nearly an hour later he found it, damn near exhausted 

  to the limit of his endurance, mostly from thirst. Parched, 

  he threw himself down beside it, scooping up dribbling 

  handfuls and drinking gratefully. He rested there for a few 

  minutes, eating a Slim Jim and drinking more water. Since 

  there was no way to carry it with him, Eric decided to 

  follow the stream up. I can't fucking believe I forgot to 

  bring a canteen! There's four of them back at the truck in 

  our camping stuff. And they rag you out for that on 

  maneuvers. But if that was the case I wouldn't be climbing 

  this fucking mountain to get help!



      Kirstin and Paul sat before the flickering fire, each 

  engrossed in their own thoughts. Overhead, the jet sky was 

  filled with untold billions of brilliantly sparkling stars, 

  clearer and more vivid than any she'd ever seen before. 

  Bringing her gaze back down to earth, Kirstin reached out 

  and tossed a couple of sticks on the fire, glancing over at 

  Paul. He was still brooding, quiet, and sullen. She had, 

  assuming wrongly that he was in pain, repeatedly offered him 

  ibuprofin until he'd snapped at her to leave him the hell 


                           4





  alone. Other than their predicament, she had no idea of what 

  was eating at him, but sensed that there was something more.

      I can't imagine what's bugging him. Eric said he 

  shouldn't be in that much pain, no more than the Mediprin 

  can handle. Or is he pissed because he couldn't go with 

  Eric? I mean, come on! He won't even be able to use that arm 

  for at least a month, Eric says. It's not really any of our 

  faults that the accident happened, just dumb bad luck. It's 

  not going to help to lay blame, anyway. But, subconsciously, 

  she knew that she would have laid the blame on Scott if he 

  wasn't dying right now. Her mind shied away from the thought 

  before it was fully completed, instead skipping away to 

  wonder about Paul's attitude again and how Eric was doing.



      The truck slewed sideways, sliding uncontrollably; he 

  pumped the brakes but to no avail- it crashed through brush, 

  then sailed down into nothingness. There were screams and 

  shouts, him yelling, "Hold on! Brace yourselves!" then a 

  tremendous crash, and blackout.

      Scott woke in a cold sweat, red agony pulsing in his 

  chest. He'd been moving during the memory/nightmare. Laying 

  still, breathing shallowly, he tried to will the pain to 

  lessen. He'd never been so grievously hurt before and 

  gritted his teeth against agonized moans, having no idea 

  that Kirstin was only a few feet away, listening for him. 

  After what seemed to be an indeterminable time the pain 

  lessened just enough to be bearable, though his chest was 

  jabbed with a bolt of white-hot agony every time he took a 

  breath. This is like being in a Skinner box, me being 


                           5





  conditioned not to breathe, he thought hazily. I can't take 

  this much longer.

      He opened his eyes to flickering darkness. After 

  puzzling over it for a time he realized that the flickering 

  was from a campfire, somewhere behind the truck. Sudden 

  hunger and thirst grabbed him by the throat and stomach with 

  iron fists, as he was unconsciously thinking of fat hot dogs 

  on sticks, roasting over an open fire, and despite himself 

  Scott groaned out loud.

      Moments later Kirstin's voice said, "Close your eyes, 

  babe, I'm going to open the door."

      When he opened them again she had scooted into the back 

  seat, sitting on the hump in the footwell, and the interior 

  of the truck was brightly lit from the glaring dome light. 

  She held two plastic mugs in her hands and had a bundle 

  wrapped in tinfoil under one arm. "How're you doing?"

      "I've been better," he croaked. "Hot. Burning up."

      "Yeah, we're trying to sweat the fever out of you," she 

  said, carefully setting the package and one of the cups on 

  the floor. "Here's water and Mediprin if you think you can 

  take it."

      When that was down he rested, Kirstin unwrapping the 

  package and bringing out an old t-shirt soaked with cool 

  water, laving his head and neck, then laid it on his hot 

  forehead. "I opened a can of chicken and stars soup. Do you 

  want some?"

      "God, yeah, I'm starving. Can't I have Dinty Moore stew 

  or something heavier than soup?"

      "No, Eric says to take it easy on your stomach. More 


                           6





  light meals of soup and broth'll be better than heavy 

  things." She lifted the cup of warm broth to his lips, 

  wiping his matted beard with her fingers when it dribbled. 

  "I remember reading in a book or magazine once that 

  willowbark tea is good for a fever, it's supposed to be like 

  aspirin, so tomorrow me and Paul are going to see if we can 

  find any willow trees and figure out how to make it. And 

  we've got a package of those hot dog buns you went to so 

  much trouble to get up on the roof, molding in the sun. 

  That'll make penicillin for you."

      "Did Doctor Eric think that up too?" Scott asked with 

  obvious bitterness, wondering why he'd been so badly hurt 

  and Eric not even scratched.

      Kirstin frowned, brushing tangled hair off her forehead 

  absently. "I don't know what your problem is. Eric knows 

  more about first aid than the rest of us, other than you."

      "Christ, I'm sorry. I just fucking hate to have to lay 

  here and not do anything to help, be taken care of like a 

  baby."

      "Well, Scott, you know you're badly hurt! If we can 

  keep you alive until we're rescued, you'll make it. What do 

  you expect us to do, throw you out like garbage just because 

  you're hurt?" Caught by surprise at her own strong emotions, 

  Kirstin burst into wracking sobs, hiding her hot face in her 

  hands. Scott could only lay there helplessly, watching, 

  feeling an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his 

  injuries. When she finally got ahold of herself Kirstin 

  dashed the wetness from her face and gave him a weak, 

  tremulous smile. Now she needed a pair of strong arms to 


                           7





  hold her and a firm chest for a moment's comfort, and there 

  was no one who could give it. "I'm OK. I haven't let go 

  since this happened, and I guess it was time."

      Scott yawned unexpectedly, grimacing in pain as the red 

  daggers stabbed his chest. "Guess I'll sleep some more. You 

  should, too."

      "I'll try." As she scooted out of the truck and stood, 

  Kirstin felt the exhaustion of her sudden emotional release. 

  But she felt better, an unknown tension dissipated, more in 

  control of herself. Back at the fire she saw Paul still 

  sitting where he'd been for the last hour or so, the white, 

  red, and blue bandanna sling resting his arm on one thigh as 

  he sat crosslegged, staring into the faint, dying flames. 

  "Hey, the fire's going out," she said, stepping into its 

  vague light and throwing a couple of small dry pine sticks 

  onto it. 

      He shrugged carelessly. "I saw Eric's signal while you 

  were with Scott. When's he supposed to start shooting off 

  the rest of the flares?"

      "When he reaches the road," Kirstin replied, poking at 

  the fire with a charred green stick. "Probably tomorrow 

  night, and the next. Then he'll head back."

      Paul nodded, watching her nurse the dinky flames into a 

  larger fire. "Did he take the gun, do you know?"

      "Huh? What gun?" Kirstin's head shot up and she stared 

  at him, surprised.

      "Oh, shitfire, I forgot you didn't know. Eric brought 

  his 9mm, just in case. Only me and him knew about it."

      "Yeah, right. Thanks a lot. You know what would've 


                           8





  happened it they'd caught us at the border with an 

  unregistered gun?" Although annoyed that they hadn't told 

  her, Kirstin was nonetheless relived that they had a weapon.

      "That's why we didn't tell you."

      She decided to let it drop, or they'd start arguing. 

  "Well, I have to admit it's good to know we have a gun. 

  We'll probably have to do some hunting before this is over."

      Paul frowned at her. "I thought we were good on food 

  for a couple of weeks."

      "We are. But do you  want to live on plain tuna and 

  Slim Jims for that long? I'm sure we'd be forgiven for 

  shooting a couple of rabbits or a goose or something." She 

  yawned suddenly, a wide, bone-crackingly satisfying yawn, 

  but its pleasure was interrupted by the cramps that had been 

  getting steadily worse all day. "Well, I'm going to turn in. 

  Don't forget to bank the fire when you go to bed."

      "Yeah. See you in the morning." Paul turned his head to 

  watch her climb into the Cherokee's rear compartment. The 

  cooler, Coleman stove, packs, gear, and extra sleeping bags 

  were now stored in the tent where Paul slept. Kirstin had 

  insisted on being as close to Scott as possible, though she 

  was uncomfortable sleeping on the hard plastic truck bed.

      He returned his gaze to the dying fire when she'd 

  climbed into her sleeping bag, and the dark suddenly became 

  menacing rather than unremarkable, noises seeming 

  unnaturally loud and dangerous. He forced himself to stay 

  seated with an effort, staring around, trying to see into 

  the featureless blackness beyond the fire's dim glow. There 

  ain't nothing more dangerous than a raccoon or weasel out 


                           9





  there. Animals don't come near humans, they're scared of us. 

  Well, there might be bears or wolves around, but they won't 

  bother us. Isn't much food around here to draw them. But 

  maybe tomorrow I'll make a spear or something. I bet it 

  never occurred to Eric that we might need that gun too.

      Yeah, ole 100% All-American boy forgot about that. So 

  he's not so fucking perfect after all. What if the smell of 

  blood from Scott draws predators? I'm sure a grizzly could 

  get in the truck if it really wanted to. Just to be safe, he 

  reached under the sling and unsnapped the hard black leather 

  sheath on his Buck knife. It wasn't much, just a four-inch 

  blade, but better than nothing. And he kept it sharp as a 

  razor, much sharper than Eric's longer pocketknife.

      Craving a cigarette, Paul got up awkwardly and went 

  over to the tent. In another shirt was his pack of Marlboro 

  Menthols and lighter, and with a wordless murmur of pleasure 

  he lit up. What he really wanted was a joint, but there was 

  none rolled and he couldn't do it with one arm. Nor could he 

  use the Bomber, but the first couple of hits from a 

  cigarette still gave him a pleasant, distracting sense of 

  lightheadedness.

      I'd hate to be on acid or mecaline out here, he thought 

  as he resumed his seat, laying the pack of cigarettes beside 

  him. I'd go nuts, freak out on the wildness of the place, 

  weird noises, worrying about animals, knowing there isn't 

  civilization within twenty miles. If we weren't hurt this 

  would be great, though. Talk about getting away from it all!



      Bundled in a drab, scratchy military blanket, Eric lay 


                           10





  awake, staring up through the leafy dark branches at 

  glimpses of the night sky. He was wedged rather tightly, and 

  uncomfortably, between a tall shelf of rock and a massive 

  old tree, secured in case he rolled over in his sleep. 

  Wouldn't do to wake up back at the bottom, probably hurt 

  worse than Scott.

      Scott. Wonder how he is tonight, if he's still with us. 

  Pretty sharp idea of Kirstin's, that moldy bread. Still 

  don't know how to get it in him or how much to give, though. 

  Doubt he'll just eat it. He surprised me; I didn't think 

  he'd make it through the first night. Scott's tough, though, 

  I knew that. If these flares draw help he might just make 

  it, or maybe he's not as badly hurt as I thought.  He 

  shifted, bumping his elbow against unyielding rock, and 

  muttered a curse. Hope Kirstin saw my signal. Wonder how 

  she's doing tonight. She's a helluva lot tougher than I 

  thought, that's for sure. There's something about her now... 

  can't describe it... it's almost like I never really knew 

  her before, though we've all been hanging out for, what, 

  five years now? Yeah, at least. She showed a lot of 

  determination in losing all that weight last year. Wonder if 

  we could talk her into bodybuilding now, she's got the build 

  for it. But maybe Scott wouldn't like having a girlfriend 

  who could knock him out if she pissed him off!

      Thinking of Kirstin and Scott in bed brought memories 

  of Lidy, his last girlfriend. He'd met her at Ft. Jackson, 

  only a few months before he left the Army. They had hit it 

  off right away after being introduced by mutual friends in 

  an off-post bar. That same night they'd slept together, and 


                           11





  Eric had fumbled, embarrassed, with the condom she'd 

  strongly insisted he use. She'd been great in bed, fun to 

  hang out with, but when he mentioned marriage, she had 

  confessed that she had chronic herpes. 

      Angry, confused, hurt, feeling betrayed, Eric hadn't 

  seen her again during his final few weeks in North Carolina. 

  He knew he'd been--and still was, for that matter--in love 

  with her, but also knew he could never have trusted her 

  again. If she had told him about the herpes before they'd 

  had sex, well, maybe... but who knew, now. Ever since then 

  he had been celibate, though at his parents' repeated urging 

  he'd dated daughters of their friends a few times. Lidy 

  hadn't been his first lover, but unless he could find a 

  woman he unquestionably and undoubtingly trusted, she would 

  be the last.

  (3195)















                           12





                CHAPTER VI- DISILLUSIONMENT

                              

      Paul woke suddenly, aware only that something was 

  wrong. Then he recognized the sound of low, intense moaning. 

  Why wasn't Kirstin with Scott? he wondered. If his moaning 

  woke Paul, five feet away and with canvas tenting between 

  them, she couldn't be nearby.

      She probably went to get water or wash up, he thought 

  as he unzipped the sleeping bag. Or maybe she's so exhausted 

  she's sleeping through it. She has been working like a horse 

  these past few days, I gotta admit, and I'm not much help 

  with this fucked-up arm. Outside the tent the air was 

  cooler, but not by much. It was just dawn, the dusky air 

  hazy, dew glistening everywhere. He stepped to the side of 

  the tent to piss, but paused with his fingers on the zipper 

  of his Levis, listening. Then he leaned over and looked into 

  the Cherokee's rear compartment and his eyes widened. 

  Kirstin was laying in her crumpled, unzipped sleeping bag, 

  dressed only in one of Scott's big plaid shirts and a pair 

  of peach-colored bikini briefs. From where he stood Paul 

  could see that her underwear and the tail of the shirt was 

  soaked with bright, fresh red blood, as was the bedding 

  beneath her. Kirstin was curled into a tight fetal position, 

  arms crossed over her belly.

      Paul hesitated. It looked like she was on her period, 

  but he'd never heard of a woman bleeding that heavy or 

  suffering so much. He'd never been around women much other 

  than his mother, who'd had a hysterectomy shortly after his 

  youngest brother had been born, but he knew something wasn't 


                           1





  right here. Another wretched moan forced him into action, 

  full bladder temporarily forgotten. He stepped to the 

  tailgate and lowered it. "Kirstin? Kirstin, are you all 

  right?"

      She raised her head and looked back at him, her face 

  ashen. Dark circles were prominent beneath her hollow eyes. 

  With some effort she focused on him and muttered, "Paul? 

  Check on Scott first. I... can't."

      "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" He wanted to crawl in 

  beside her, but with his arm immobilized he couldn't. "Tell 

  me what to do to help."

      "Water... and some painkiller, if there's any left," 

  she croaked. "I think I'm having a miscarriage."



      Scott lay listening, the clear mountain air carrying 

  the sounds that Kirstin was trying so desperately to 

  smother. Her muted groans of pain had penetrated his 

  feverish doze, and he fought off the lethargy to listen. The 

  fierce knives in his chest had grown into a continuous rack 

  of agony, with pains shooting outward into this belly and 

  arms. Even as he listened to his girlfriend's suffering he 

  realized that he wasn't going to make it, that he was going 

  to die out here in the wilderness.

      The realization came tempered with relief. Though he 

  didn't want  to die, if there was no other way to get relief 

  from this constant agony, then so be it, because he just 

  couldn't take much more. It seemed like he had been 

  suffering forever, his previous good health only a distant 

  memory.


                           2





      Suddenly Kirstin screamed, the sound muted by something 

  pressed against her mouth. Scott cringed, never before 

  wanting so badly to be with her. Then Paul's voice came 

  clearly: "It's all over, Kirstin, relax. Yeah, lay back, 

  you're okay. I've got to try and clean you up."

      Unthinkingly Scott took a deep breath of relief that it 

  was over, and the massive sledgehammer of agony that 

  shattered his chest came so suddenly that he never even had 

  time to cry out.

      

      Paul was shaking; shaking with fear, disgust, and pity. 

  He wanted to be anywhere but here, where Kirstin lay 

  spread-eagled before him, naked from the waist down, a 

  fist-sized mass of bloody tissue between her open legs. 

  Somehow he had to clean her up, get rid of all this blood 

  before a bear or mountain lion or some other predator was 

  drawn to it. Going back to the tent he grabbed his sleeping 

  bag, then laid it out beside her. "Kirstin... hey, Kirsty, 

  we've got to get your shirt off. Come on, you gotta help me! 

  I can't do it with just one arm. Only a little bit longer, 

  now, then you can rest."

      Drained of all feeling except the deep ache in her 

  belly, Kirstin reached up leaden arms to unbutton her shirt. 

  She was too weak to sit up, so she rolled over onto the 

  other sleeping bag he'd laid down beside her some time ago 

  while Paul pulled on the sleeve, too sick and exhausted to 

  care that he was seeing her totally naked. He got her all 

  the way on the other sleeping bag and threw the top over 

  her, though he couldn't zip it up.


                           3





      He threw the bloodstained shirt and underwear on the 

  soaked sleeping bag along with the pitiful mass of tissue, 

  and bundled it up roughly with his good left arm. Though he 

  planned to dispose of everything else, they couldn't afford 

  to lose a sleeping bag. Paul knew that cold water got blood 

  out, so he headed for the stream with the bundle under his 

  arm. Setting it down near the pool he decided the bury the 

  rest, and drew his knife to hack at the ground. When it was 

  sufficiently loosened he would go back and get Eric's 

  folding military shovel. 

      A sudden tingling of the tiny hairs on the back of his 

  neck caused Paul to whirl around, stumbling upright, knife 

  held ready. Less than three feet away was a big tawny cat, 

  snarling now that he'd seen it, crouched atop a boulder at 

  the base of the trees. He recognized it right away: it was a 

  Canada lynx. Its mottled tawny-grey fur shone in the growing 

  sunlight, the exposed mouthful of sharp teeth drawing his 

  eyes.Jesus! What the fuck! That son of a bitch must be 

  starving to come after this- but it doesn't look skinny. Or 

  it's rabid... must be. Wild animals just don't attack people 

  for no reason, and even this blood shouldn't be enough!

      Holding the knife out in front of him, Paul slowly 

  began to back away, not about to argue with an angry, 

  snarling cat the size of his dog, which was a German 

  Shepherd/labrador mix. But the lynx sprang at him and Paul 

  threw himself to the side automatically with a startled, and 

  unbelieving, yell. He stumbled back into the stream, his 

  feet tangling up in the quilt, and fell heavily on his bad 

  shoulder, legs in the stream. But the big cat leapt again 


                           4





  after sailing past him and whirling, apparently interested 

  in a bite or two of human. Instinctively Paul held the knife 

  up and out in front of him, his elbow locked and arm 

  straight out, and the lynx impaled itself on it, the raking 

  claws passing bare inches from his terrified face, blood 

  spattering on him as the blade sunk up into its chest from 

  the bottom. Paul quickly rolled and threw it off, yelling as 

  he landed on his bad shoulder again. Rolling onto his back, 

  he stared over at the dead animal only a few inches away, 

  its paws twitching for a few moments before it finally lay 

  still, the knife sticking out from between its front legs. I 

  don't believe this! That motherfucker was after me, not the 

  blood on the quilt!

      Shaking, he got to his feet and stood over the dead 

  cat, still not quite believing what had happened with such 

  unreal suddenness. Finally he braced one foot against the 

  dead cat's ribs and pulled the knife out, then took it over 

  to the stream to wash it. His bad shoulder was howling, 

  hurting more than it had since being popped back together. 

  But, wary of other animals drawn to the smell of blood, he 

  headed back to the truck to get the shovel.



      Eric stared around. He was on a fairly level, narrow, 

  crumbly dirt ledge about two or three hundred feet above the 

  ravine floor where the Cherokee sat, just barely visible 

  through the thick trees from his vantage point. By his guess 

  the road should have been here, but it wasn't. Well, what 

  the fuck. From the truck I could see where we came down, a 

  huge goddamn trail of broken trees. Damn! I'll have to head 


                           5





  left, follow this ridge. It's about where the road should 

  be. If I don't find it I may as well keep climbing... maybe 

  I'm not high enough up.

      As the sun reached zenith overhead then began its 

  ascent, he followed the ridge until it tapered off into an 

  obviously washed-out area. Annoyed, he glanced up at the 

  high pines above him, then dug in his stick and began to 

  climb again.

      By dusk he could no longer ignore his growling stomach 

  and aching legs. Anger had carried him this far along, but 

  it was time to find a place to spend another useless night. 

  Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other and 

  trying to decide between potted meat and plain, oily canned 

  tuna for dinner, he damn near walked off the top of the 

  mountain.

      Below and all around him was a breathtaking vista of 

  blue-green mountains, their eastern sides and the valleys 

  around them sheathed in dark shadows. To his left the 

  cloud-shrouded sun had set, leaving the sky a deep rose 

  color just above the horizon that shaded to pinkish cobalt 

  and finally deep blue overhead, where stars were beginning 

  to appear.

      Amazement, shock, then anger tore through him. Standing 

  on the sloping peak, which was dotted with wind-warped dwarf 

  pines that were struggling to grow in the thin layer of 

  earth over naked rock, Eric struggled with himself. Shit! I 

  can't believe I missed the fucking road! I couldn't have! 

  Unless those heavy rains washed it away, or a landslide 

  covered it. But I'd've seen something like that. What in the 


                           6





  hell is going on here? Did I hit my head and just don't 

  know I'm seeing things?

      But there was no doubt whatsoever that he was standing 

  on the top of a mountain peak, a cool, unbelievably fresh 

  breeze sweeping over him. Somehow he'd missed seeing the 

  road, unless the road was no longer there... suspicions, 

  half-formed and nearly unbearable, began to fill his 

  furiously thinking mind. 

      He camped there near the peak, building a fire against 

  the night chill behind a massive lichen-encrusted boulder 

  that he planned to sleep against. It was potted meat and 

  cold-pack cheese spread on Sociable crackers for dinner, a 

  dry meal that he barely tasted. He had kept track of water, 

  which was only five or six feet below him. Hunger and thirst 

  sated, Eric stripped off his clothes, shivering in the cool 

  air. Army thermal underwear came in handy when sleeping out 

  on a mountaintop, even if it was beginning to smell rank, he 

  thought, catching a whiff as he pulled them on. He let the 

  fire burn itself out, watching from the cocoon of his 

  blanket. The pack was his pillow, the loaded gun beneath it. 

  The next bear he saw was going to make a great winter coat, 

  for he was beginning to believe there wasn't going to be any 

  rescue at all.

      He woke to a flawlessly sunny day, the sun at least two 

  hours up. The gnarled pines didn't do much to block the 

  sunlight, but the boulder had kept him in shadow long enough 

  for him to oversleep. As if I have to go to work, Eric 

  thought derisively as he shook free of the scratchy blanket. 

  Money's the least of my worries right now, for a change!


                           7





      But when he stood up to piss, a thick cloud of grayish 

  smoke rising out of the trees far below grabbed his 

  attention immediately. Jesus, what're they doing down there? 

  Trying to start a forest fire? I hope nothing's happened! 

  But as he watched while relieving himself against the 

  boulder, he saw that the smoke wasn't out of control, but 

  steady, more likely a signal to him. I forgot to light off 

  the flares last night! They probably think something 

  happened to me. They won't see a flare now, but if I fire 

  off a round Paul will know it's from me.

      After changing into stained BDU's and a black t-shirt, 

  he picked up the gun and checked the loaded clip before 

  pointing it into the sky with both hands. He triggered a 

  five-second burst, then waited, watching the smoke. Soon it 

  tapered off to a bare whitish curl, invisible against the 

  thick trees unless you were looking for it. He squeezed off 

  one more shot, then began to decamp.

      It took him less than a full day to make the descent 

  that had taken him two days to climb. But he was even more 

  careful on the way down, aware that it could be more 

  dangerous than climbing up.

      The sun had just sank behind the highest western peak 

  when he caught a flash of dull gold between the 

  tightly-packed trees; he'd come down the mountain south of 

  the campsite, since the going had been easier. He hurried 

  foreword, calling out, and met Paul near the rear of the 

  truck. "Goddamn  but am I glad to see you!" Paul said 

  fervently. He was a mess, wild-eyed, filthy, and seeming to 

  be on the verge of panic. "You ever try to skin a lynx 


                           8





  one-handed?"

      "What in the fuck are you talking about?!" Eric 

  frowned, looking around him. "Where's Kirstin? How's Scott?"

      "You may as well come to the fire. Coffee's made. It's 

  a long story. Kirstin had a miscarriage. She didn't-"

      "Whaaat?!" Birds took off out of the nearby trees, 

  squawking, wings whirring, at Eric's yell. "She was 

  pregnant? Where is she?"

      "Hey, wait! Let me finish! She says she didn't know she 

  was pregnant and I believe her, man. Eric, calm down!" Paul 

  went into the tent, reappearing with two plastic mugs. 

  "She's sleeping in the truck, so be quiet. Scott's not good, 

  I tell you. I think he's... he's almost gone. He's been 

  unconscious since this morning."

      Eric threw his pack to the ground near the tent, 

  heedless of the loaded gun in one of its pockets. Carefully 

  he lowered the truck's tailgate and climbed in beside the 

  sleeping woman, whose pale face was flushed with fever. He 

  noted her bare shoulders, wondered if she was nude in the 

  sleeping bag, then banished that thought and gently laid a 

  hand on her sweat-beaded forehead. She was burning up and 

  didn't move at his touch. He backed out, paused for a sip of 

  the hot black coffee Paul had set out, then went around the 

  side of the truck. 

      Scott was much worse, he saw right away. He was dead 

  white, swollen, cool to the touch, and his breathing was so 

  shallow that Eric thought for a moment he was gone. But the 

  faint, irregular thread of pulse was there, though for how 

  much longer he couldn't be sure. His chest tightened and 


                           9





  throat constricted, Eric silently bid Scott goodbye, then 

  turned away and quietly closed the door. There was nothing 

  they could do now but wait for the end.

      Back at the fire, he shucked off his smelly t-shirt, 

  wondering where Paul had gone to, then rummaged around in 

  his other clothes piled in a corner of the tent. None were 

  clean, but he grabbed up a pair of grey jogging shorts and a 

  bar of Lifebuoy and headed for the stream to wash as best he 

  could under the little waterfall as his own stink was 

  disgusting him. There he found a sight totally beyond the 

  wildest things he could have imagined.

      Paul was kneeling before the half-skinned, gutted 

  carcass of some unknown animal that was staked to the ground 

  with sticks through its two front legs. Beyond him was 

  Scott's red plaid sleeping bag, spread out over several 

  bushes that were bent down by its weight, and water dripped 

  to the ground beneath it. Paul turned as he walked up, 

  wiping sweat off his forehead, and said, "Hey, you wanna 

  give me a hand with this? It's taken me all day to do what 

  my dad's hunting videos show being done in an hour."

      "What in the hell is that?" Eric asked, tossing the 

  shorts and soap off to one side and going to kneel on the 

  other side of the carcass.

      "A lynx. Sonuvabitch attacked me- I guess it smelled 

  the blood on me and the sleeping bag."

      Eric was still confused. "What are you talking about? 

  Hunting videos? Blood?"

      Paul sat back on his heels, shoving the knife into the 

  earth. "Okay, here goes. Kirstin bled all over the sleeping 


                           10





  bag when she... you know... so I brought it out here to wash 

  it. The lynx attacked me, and I'll admit that it's nothing 

  more than luck that I'm skinning it and it's not eating me 

  instead. Anyway, I killed it, and I'm trying to save the 

  skin. I've never done this, but my dad has a whole shitload 

  of hunting videos that show how to field-dress, skin, tan, 

  and butcher an animal."

      "Aah, okay, I got it now," Eric nodded. "Well, I was 

  going to wash, but I guess I may as well wait until tomorrow 

  when the sun's up. Okay, show me what to do, great white 

  hunter."

      It was nearly dark by the time they got the lynx 

  roughly skinned, and Paul held the flashlight while Eric 

  washed the fur in the stream. They took the flayed carcass a 

  ways into the woods and buried it, but Paul kept a couple 

  handfuls of fat in a bowl for some reason Eric couldn't even 

  begin to guess at. 

      They heard Kirstin's voice calling out weakly as they 

  returned to camp. Eric hurried to the truck, setting the 

  flashlight on its base as he crawled in the back. "Hi, how 

  you doing?"

      She coughed then moaned, clutching at her stomach. "Not 

  too goddamn good. Did Paul tell you?"

      "Yeah, hey, it's all right. Hang on, I'll go get you 

  some water."

      "No, wait! Scott's been moaning. Go see how he is 

  first."

      "I'll look, and get you something to drink." Eric got 

  out, shocked by the sight of her. Her hair was lank and 


                           11





  sweat-tangled, eyes hollow and dull with brown circles 

  beneath, her face ghostly pale but for the fever flush on 

  cheeks and forehead. He remembered how she'd looked before: 

  vibrant, healthy, so fucking normal.

      When he shone the flashlight through the window on 

  Scott, the first thing he saw was the froth of bloody foam 

  below his mouth. Hemorrhaging, I think. Anyway, it won't be 

  long now. Better tell them. But as he called Paul over, he 

  had another idea. Scott was far gone enough that it couldn't 

  hurt to move him, and he knew that Kirstin would want to 

  spend the last moments of his life with him, even if he was 

  unconscious.

      The transfer was made carefully, Paul holding the 

  lantern high as Eric carried his friend's too-light body 

  around to the back of the truck. They'd spread the dull 

  olive Army blanket on the tailgate and Eric laid Scott on 

  it, then crawled in and pulled the blanket inside. 

      Kirstin rolled over on her side with a muffled 

  exclamation of pain and reached out a shaking hand to touch 

  Scott's high cheekbone above the dark beard. His skin was 

  deathly pale and cool to her touch. "Oh, babe, don't go," 

  she said, voice breaking. Tears began to stream down her 

  cheeks. "God, how I love you! How we loved each other... we 

  were so good together."

      Eric was trapped at the head of the cargo area, an 

  unwilling witness. Paul sat crosslegged on the edge of the 

  tailgate, lantern beside him, head bowed, unable to watch. 

  Each of them had their own memories of Scott: Eric 

  remembered their workouts together, pumping iron, 


                           12





  alternately encouraging and insulting each other, laughing. 

  Paul recalled their childhood together, when his older 

  brothers had beaten up on him and Michael, and Scott had 

  always come to their defense. There had been bad times too, 

  like the night of Scott's twenty-sixth birthday a couple of 

  years ago when he'd gotten shitfaced drunk on Old Granddad 

  and amaretto slammers and nearly destroyed the apartment he 

  and Kirstin had been renting; they'd been lucky to only be 

  evicted and not sued over that incident. But good had come 

  of that too, because after that he never drank whiskey, only 

  beer, and had never gotten that drunk again.

      "I'm so sorry I lost our baby," Kirstin whispered, 

  gasping for breath between sobs. "I know you didn't want 

  kids yet, and it was an accident, but I would've kept it."

      Eric reached over and took Scott's cool hand, bringing 

  it up so Kirstin could take it. She cried harder, words 

  incoherent, until Paul finally looked over, noted that his 

  cousin's chest was completely still, and moaned, "He's gone. 

  Oh, fuck, he's gone!"

      Kirstin laid back, still holding Scott's limp hand. 

  "Cremate him. Make the biggest, smokiest fucking bonfire, 

  something they'll see in Alaska. He would like that, I 

  think."

      Earlier in the week Paul had discovered a good-sized 

  clearing a short distance away, where he'd built the bonfire 

  to signal Eric. They wrapped Scott's body in the army 

  blanket and put it in the tent overnight, the other two men 

  sleeping out around the campfire, and early the next morning 

  Eric carried Scott's body over his shoulders to the 


                           13





  clearing. As he laid the blanket-wrapped bundle on the huge 

  pyre of logs and green branches they'd built up earlier Paul 

  shook his head, dark-rimmed eyes hollow. "Hey, no, man, this 

  ain't right," he moaned. "We don't burn people like leaves."

      "You heard her," Eric replied, stepping back. "And 

  she's right. He would want us to do this, to help us even 

  after he's dead."

      "I- I still can't believe he's really gone," Paul was 

  obviously struggling to contain tears, a struggle painful to 

  watch. "I- I- oh, shit, why did he have to die? Why not me? 

  I'm the freak of the family, the loser who smokes dope and 

  can't keep a job! Nobody understood us but us! Wuh- we were- 

  were-"

      Eric grabbed him in a rough bear hug and held him while 

  Paul fought against his grief, thrashing and pounding his 

  good arm against Eric's side. Oddly enough Eric felt 

  detached, almost as if he was watching or acting in a movie. 

  When Paul finally pushed away he went over to where they'd 

  siphoned a couple quarts of gas out of the Cherokee's tank, 

  picked up the metal bucket and splashed the liquid onto 

  Scott's clothes, the same ragged jeans and green Army shirt 

  with cutoff sleeves that he'd been wearing when they'd 

  crashed, caked with dried blood. He recognized the shirt as 

  one he'd given to Scott when he'd outgrown it from 

  bodybuilding. "You light it," he said to Paul, tossing him 

  the pack of water-resistant camping matches. "You're 

  family."

      Hollow-eyed, lashes still sparkling with moisture, face 

  blotchy from crying, Paul caught the matches. "Yeah. G'bye, 


                           14





  old man."

      The heavy plume of bluish-black smoke rose into the 

  clear blue sky, eddied west by a steady breeze. From the 

  back of the truck Kirstin saw it and cried harder, 

  exhausting herself finally into a restless sleep. She 

  dreamed that none of this had really happened, that she was 

  sleeping in a campsite in Fairbanks, Alaska with her man 

  beside her, and slept peacefully for the rest of that day 

  and night.

  (3821)





















                           15





                   CHAPTER VII- LEARNING

                              

      Eric dug through their final bag of food, shaking his 

  head. "Where's the chicken soup? There was two cans when I 

  left!"

      "We gave it all to Scott," Paul called to him. He was 

  kneeling beside the tent, where Eric had helped him stake 

  out the lynx fur. While the chunks of yellowish fat he'd 

  saved from the cat slowly melted in a tin pan on the Coleman 

  stove, he scraped the skin free of membrane and blood 

  vessels with a dull metal butterknife. The fat would be 

  rubbed into the skin, then it would be scraped and stretched 

  until dry. At least, that was the theory he knew. "Couldn't 

  you water down Dinty Moore stew for her? There's a can of 

  that left."

      Eric stood up with a can of Hormel Hot Chili in his 

  hand. "Oh no there isn't. This is all that's left; no soup, 

  stew, crackers or canned meat. You can't feed a sick person 

  chili, cheese spread and tuna!"

      "Well, Christ, what do you expect me to do?" Paul 

  snapped, stabbing the knife into soft ground beside the 

  skin. "It's not like I can run up to a 7-Eleven for 

  supplies!"

      "You asshole!" Eric lashed out, throwing the can of 

  chili on the ground, where it buried itself halfway in the 

  dirt. "We already lost Scott, and Kirstin could die too, and 

  you're making fucking jokes!"

      Paul got to his feet carefully, still off-balance with 

  one arm immobile. "Oh yeah? You think I'm joking? Well, 


                           1





  you're the joke, Mr. Perfect! You think you know it all, 

  well, I've got news for-"

      Eric stepped forward, then stopped, obviously checking 

  himself. "You got a problem? What's the deal, Paul? Why'd 

  you call me that?"

      The other's sudden rage cooled as fast as it had 

  flared. "Nuthin'. Don't worry about it." He walked away 

  toward the stream quickly, head down, feet scuffling over 

  the trail they'd worn through the thick bushes. Said bushes 

  were draped with the laundry Eric had done that morning: 

  sweats, BDUs, jeans, plaid shirts, underwear, and socks for 

  all of them. 

      Eric stared after him, but didn't follow. Well isn't 

  this just fucking great. He's got some kind of inferiority 

  complex and he's jealous of me. Dumb fuck. If I was him I'd 

  just be glad there was someone unhurt and competent around. 

  He's not helping much, that's for sure. And he sure isn't 

  helping me figure out how to help Kirstin. It's a miracle 

  she didn't bleed to death, but the bleeding does seem to be 

  tapering off already. 

      "Clover!" he said out loud suddenly. He recalled his 

  late grandmother, an ancient, wizened Polish woman, telling 

  him about herbal medicine as a child. Clover was full of 

  iron, good for the heart and blood. And she'd always served 

  chamomile tea after one of her famous nine-course dinners to 

  aid digestion. And hollyhocks... she'd said something about 

  hollyhocks...why didn't I listen to her better? Hell, I was 

  only ten when she died. But Busia, I need you now! I have no 

  idea what chamomile looks like, but I sure as shit can dig 


                           2





  up and boil some clover. Maybe I can put some of that moldy 

  bread in it too... she looks bad...  

      The weird herbal potion he ended up with not only 

  smelled noxious, the taste was enough to gag a vulture. It 

  contained two handfuls of clover--roots and all--mold 

  scraped out of the plastic bag that had once contained hot 

  dog buns, the soft inner bark from a willow tree Paul had 

  found, and some hollyhock roots and flowers. They stood 

  together before the camping stove, differences and jealousy 

  forgotten in their concern for the sick woman. "She's not 

  gonna drink that, man, delirious or not," Paul finally said, 

  moving upwind of the steaming concoction on the Coleman 

  stove. "Just the smell..."

      "Yeah. Yeah, I know." Eric glanced over at the truck, 

  where Kirstin tossed and cried out in her fever. "But she's 

  got to have it. The Mediprin isn't doing shit. Maybe we 

  could water it down and mix it with something..."

      "Pop!" Paul yelled suddenly, grabbing Eric's arm. 

  "We'll mix some with her Diet Coke! There's a couple of cans 

  left. Or give her a drink of straight pop, then some mixed 

  with this shit- what d'ya think?"

      "I think it might work!" Eric thumped the other man's 

  undamaged shoulder gently. "You get the pop, and I'll water 

  down this witches' brew."

      It was extremely fortunate that they decided to water 

  down the mixture and dilute it even more with carbonation. 

  The massive dose of nearly pure penicillin from the moldy 

  bread, unprocessed, would have killed her on the spot.




                           3





      Kirstin floated through a fever dreamscape of nightmare 

  images, unable to tell reality from fantasy. Mostly she saw 

  Scott, covered in blood, causing her to scream and try to 

  get away from him but her feet were stuck in the thick 

  sludgy good of dreams and he was after her, a George Romero 

  zombie, lurching with his arms out and hands gnarled claws. 

  Or he was dead and being carted off, away from her, and she 

  tried to save him. Then she would see a plume of thick grey 

  smoke that smelled of burned meat and knew he was gone, yet 

  still try to save him from the flames.

      Then she looked up to see Paul's narrow face above her, 

  his skin darkly tanned, one arm in a sling. "Thirsty," she 

  whimpered, and he pressed a cup to her mouth, but the soda 

  tasted rank. "That's no good!" she cried, wanting to spit it 

  out but curiously unable to resist gulping it down.

      After a while she became aware that she was flying 

  effortlessly through the clear blue sky. It was so sweetly 

  peaceful, beautiful, calm, as she dove and glided among the 

  clouds like a weightless bird. Then, far below, rising from 

  an endless forest of unbroken trees, came a plume of heavy 

  grayish smoke and she dove, screaming, suddenly panicked, to 

  save her man from the flames, but lost control. On, on down 

  she plunged, out of control, crashing through bushes and 

  trees, a fiery pain lancing her body.

      Then cool, soothing dampness caressed her, saving her 

  from the flames that had consumed Scott. "Yeah, that's it, 

  relax," a familiar voice said, the gentle hands running over 

  her belly and torso. She looked down and saw Scott about to 

  mount her, his strong hands pulling her hips to him, and 


                           4





  gladly she opened her legs and arms to receive his welcome 

  weight. He penetrated and they locked in the timeless dance 

  of bucking hips and slapping bellies, sweat growing on hot 

  skin. She opened her eyes to tell him that she loved him and 

  saw a shiny blackened burnt face, the teeth showing in a 

  skull's grin from between fleshless lips, bright blue 

  eyeballs staring unseeingly down into hers. She screamed and 

  shrieked, fighting the weight that was pinning her down, 

  frantic to get away from the burnt corpse, but it held her 

  down until with a snap she gave in, to fall uncaringly into 

  utter blankness.

      

      "Jesus, I heard her screaming all the way from the 

  stream! What the hell, Eric?" Paul, breathing hard and 

  holding his bad arm against his body, stood at the tailgate.

      Eric lay sprawled full-length on Kirstin's motionless 

  body, the sleeping bag twisted between them. "Hell if I 

  know! I was washing her down with cool water to help break 

  the fever and all of a sudden she started kicking and 

  screaming, so I had to hold her down." As if to prove his 

  words, a red plastic bucket was overturned on the tailgate, 

  water pooled around it and dripping from the metal. In one 

  hand Eric clutched a wet rag torn from a plaid shirt. "Then, 

  just a minute ago, she went limp. I think she's finally 

  sleeping." He picked himself up off her, then reached and 

  felt her forehead. "Well I be fucked," he said slowly, 

  glancing at Paul. "She's soaked in sweat. I think the fever 

  broke."  "About time," he sighed with relief. "You think 

  she'll be okay now?"


                           5





      Eric kicked the bucket to the ground, tucked the 

  sleeping bag in around Kirstin, and climbed out of the 

  truck. "I think so. But she's going to need food- broth, 

  light stuff, bland. Like chicken soup. Can you stay with her 

  for a while?"

      "Yeah, sure. I was just digging s'more clover. Why?"

      "I've got to go hunting." Eric hurried into the tent 

  and returned dressed in camouflage, the 9mm and several 

  clips making distinctive bulges in the pockets of his BDU 

  jacket. "I"m going to try for some of the ducks and geese 

  that should be around the lake I saw from up on the 

  mountain."

      Paul, sitting on the tailgate and eating greasy tuna 

  out of a can with his fingers, remarked, "Y'know, you're 

  never going to hit a bird with that. You need a shotgun, 

  buckshot that'll scatter."

      "All right, Mr. Video Hunting Expert, I know that. but 

  unless you've got a Remington hidden up your ass, I guess 

  I'll have to try with this, won't I?"

      Flushing a dull red beneath his bronzed tan, Paul 

  snarled, "Fuck you!" as Eric walked away into the woods. 

  Screw that asshole. Let the dumb fuck waste his time and 

  ammo. Bastard thinks he's the only one who knows anything 

  around here. Lemme find that ball of twine and I'll catch 

  ten birds to his one.

      Eric trudged back to camp well after dark. One reason 

  he was so late was that he'd walked all the way past the 

  lake and back, which was an hour's journey. But he'd show 

  Paul, for in the leg pockets of his BDUs were two fat brown 


                           6





  birds, grouse or ptarmigan he guessed, that he'd flushed out 

  of a bush and brought down in a thirty-second burst. Both 

  birds were pretty well mutilated from the powerful bullets, 

  but there was enough left to make soup with.

      Paul looked up from his plucking when Eric appeared in 

  the light of the campfire. He grinned up at the tall man and 

  said, "Y'know, I was trying to tell you that I knew how to 

  make a net out of twine. Found those ducks about a mile 

  downstream, where it gets marshy."

      "You slimy motherfucker," Eric said half in amazement. 

  "I wasted damn near a whole clip on these and you bring in 

  half a dozen with hardly any effort! Where'd you learn 

  that?"

      Vindicated, Paul grinned cockily up at the tall man. "I 

  didn't learn it anywhere. I just figured it out. Cut lengths 

  of twine, tied rocks to the ends and spread 'em out parallel 

  on the ground, then tied more pieces crossways and put more 

  rocks on the ends of them. Check it out." He pointed to the 

  Cherokee, where the large net covered nearly the whole roof. 

  The stones he'd tied to the twine were under an inch in 

  diameter and of different shapes and colors, and parts of 

  the twine had been broken and were retied, but right away 

  Eric saw how and why it worked, and knew that it worked well 

  even if he hadn't seen proof.

      "Not bad," he said, throwing his birds down and going 

  over to the truck to examine it. He walked back to the fire 

  and dropped down, pulling the gun and clips out of his 

  pocket. "Yeah, that's a pretty fucking good idea. How's 

  Kirstin?"


                           7





      "Sleeping, mostly. Her fever went up again so I gave 

  her the last of the Mediprin, but it's almost gone now, and 

  she drank about fifteen cups of water. She asked for some 

  weak coffee... can she have it?" He was sitting with one 

  foot on a duck, plucking one-handed, so Eric grabbed another 

  to help. "Hey, save the feathers into this bag. We can use 

  'em to make pillows or something out of."

      "Damn, Paul, you're turning into a twentieth-century 

  Davy Crockett," Eric said, thinking that a little complement 

  could go a long way for someone with such low self-esteem 

  and confidence as Paul. "Good thing you're here or we'd be 

  fucked."

      Paul's severe inferiority complex began to break apart 

  a chip at a time, but that wall had been building steadily 

  for nearly ten years, ever since Eric's family had moved in 

  behind his when they were adolescents. Eric, though two 

  years younger, had always been taller, better-looking, with 

  higher grades, and more outgoing. Paul had always been aware 

  of the other's superiority, but Eric seemed so unconscious 

  of it that it had never been a problem before. It just 

  wasn't fair, though, since Paul was two years older. And 

  Eric's easy, outgoing personality and crazy sense of humor 

  made him hard to resent or dislike. The subconscious 

  resentment Paul felt for him had never really surfaced 

  before, but it was finally crumbling as he discovered his 

  own self-worth.

      After they'd each beheaded, gutted, and plucked a bird, 

  Paul simply cut them into five pieces and tossed them in the 

  tin spaghetti pot of boiling water that was on the Coleman 


                           8





  stove. "I wish we had something else to go in that," he 

  said, grabbing one of Eric's birds to begin on. "Plain broth 

  is going to be bland as hell."

      "Yeah, I know. Maybe we could add in some clover, and 

  there's salt and pepper in the food bag." He paused in his 

  plucking, obviously thinking. "You know, my mom had a 

  vegetable garden and an herb garden, and I used to help her 

  harvest sometimes. I know I could recognize dill, maybe sage 

  and thyme too. Guess I could do some herb and vegetable 

  hunting tomorrow."

      The duck soup, after boiling for a couple of hours, was 

  just as bland as they'd thought even with the addition of 

  salt, pepper, clover, and some other things they'd found in 

  the food bag: onion and garlic powder, poultry seasoning, 

  hickory smoke salt, and paprika. A thick, greasy scum of fat 

  floated on top as it cooled. Eric had the good sense to try 

  and skim most of it off with a spoon before they gave it to 

  Kirstin, along with some weak coffee and old aspirin they 

  found in the first aid kit, all through the night. Eric 

  slept in his bag beside her, waking at her slightest sound 

  to go stoke up the stove and heat soup. At dawn he roused 

  Paul from the tent, and they trade places so Eric could get 

  a couple hours of unbroken sleep.

      She roused to full consciousness for the first time in 

  nearly a week in late afternoon of that day. She looked up 

  to see Eric's concerned face, feeling his cool hand on her 

  warm forehead. "It wasn't all a dream, was it?"

      His heart filled with deep compassion at the look in 

  her pleading eyes. But he thought it best to be straight 


                           9





  with her. "No, I wish it had been. You've been delirious for 

  six days. How do you feel?"

      "Tired. Sore. Jesus, I had the craziest dreams... 

  nightmares... about seeing smoke. Did you... cremate..?" She 

  paused, turning her face away so he wouldn't see her weak, 

  helpless tears.

      "Yeah, we did. That's probably the smoke you dreamt 

  about. You know something, Kirstin, that's really weird? 

  We've been here almost two weeks and we haven't seen or 

  heard one plane, and they should be out looking for us by 

  now. And neither the TV or radio works, it's just static as 

  if nothing's being broadcast. I know we're in a valley, but 

  we should be able to pick up something, even faint. Damned 

  if I can figure this shit out."

       With tears drying on her face, Kirstin turned back to 

  him, welcoming the distraction from her thoughts of Scott. 

  "That is weird. You're right, we can't be so far that we 

  can't pick up airwaves. We got a weather station loud and 

  clear not long before we crashed. Hey, did you light off the 

  flares?"

      Eric had to remind himself that she'd missed everything 

  that had happened in the last few days. He took a deep 

  breath, playing with one of the ribbons on the cuff of his 

  BDU pants as he said, "Kirstin, I never found the road. I 

  ended up climbing all the way to the top and halfway around 

  that goddamned mountain."

      An almost comical look of incredulous disbelief 

  contorted her face as she said, "You didn't find the road? 

  Fuck, Eric, there's a huge trail of broken trees right above 


                           10





  us! Didn't you follow that?" "You were there when I started 

  up. I had to go off-course some because I forgot to take a 

  goddamned canteen, but I still should've hit that road 

  before getting to the top!" Fighting back the frustration 

  that rose every time he thought of that useless trip, he 

  said, "Well, let me go get you some soup and coffee. Paul 

  and I got some ducks and grouse and made soup out of them. I 

  know it's bland, but it's good for you."

      "You sound like a Jewish mother," she grumbled.

      "No, a Polish one," he grinned, backing out of the 

  truck. 

      "Oh, great, that's even better," she retorted, rolling 

  her eyes, but drank the liquids he brought and drifted back 

  into a calm, peaceful sleep.

      "I think she's going to make it, barring any secondary 

  infections or pneumonia," Eric later told Paul. "We'll keep 

  giving her penicillin in the coffee until she's on her feet. 

  It won't hurt for us to take it, either."

      Paul was unstaking the finished lynxskin. It wasn't as 

  soft and supple as he'd hoped, but rubbing fat and salt into 

  it day after day, stretching and scraping it, had at least 

  cured it so it didn't smell. "Yeah, that sounds good. Did 

  you find any herbs or anything?"

      "Sort of. I don't recognize most of these plants--they 

  just look like weeds to me--but I think I found some wild 

  onions and carrots. And I saw a vine with what looked like 

  pea pods on it, but I didn't get any." He reached out and 

  took the fur Paul offered, feeling its slightly stiff 

  texture on the skin side, the thick fur soft and fluffy. 


                           11





  "You did a good job on this, man, especially for your first 

  time. What're you going to do with it?"

      "Hell if I know," Paul shrugged his good shoulder. "For 

  now I'll just roll it up and give it to Kirstin for a 

  pillow. It'll beat the jacket she's using now."

      "That'll work." Eric gave the fur back and went to the 

  Coleman stove. He ladled out some of the simmering poultry 

  soup, whose taste was much improved by the long cooking. 

  After picking out bones, skin, and lumps of fat, he sat on 

  the tailgate and slurped it from the plastic Tupperware 

  bowl. Crackers would have helped too, but they'd been out of 

  those for days. As he listened to Kirstin's soft, steady 

  breathing, chewing on soft chunks of duck meat, he mused on 

  their primitive campsite, barely half civilized. The Coleman 

  stove was almost out of propane, so they'd soon have to rig 

  its grill and spit over an open fire. He was still wracking 

  his brain, trying to remember what his mother and 

  grandmother had told him about herbs and natural foods. They 

  had no choice but to hike it out, and it would be weeks 

  before the other two would be in any shape for that. It was 

  early July, so they had at least eight weeks more of sure 

  clear, warm weather before they had to worry about cold. So 

  figure on eight to ten weeks of living off the land. We 

  can't eat just meat, though. We need fiber, roughage, 

  vitamins. Dandelion greens are edible. Roots... I don't know 

  what roots we can eat. Cattails? Potatoes? Berries! We'll 

  have to look for berries, and nuts too. Maybe there's more 

  food out here than I thought.

  (3285)


                           12





                   CHAPTER VIII- HEALING

                              

      Kirstin improved daily, and only four days after waking 

  from her delirious fever, was complaining about being bored. 

  "Eric, I can't just lay here day after day staring at the 

  ceiling," she told him. "Let me lay out next to the fire. 

  Goddamn, it's hot out here, it's not like I'm going to get 

  sicker from laying on snow or something. Besides, I feel 

  good enough to get up."

      He looked around, shrugged, said, "Let me set up a 

  sleeping bag out here and get you some clothes." Her nudity 

  didn't mean much by now, since both men had cleaned and 

  bathed her, but he still thought it would be best to have 

  her dressed if she was going to be up.

      As he helped her into a grey t-shirt, loose red jogging 

  shorts, and a pair of underwear with a sanitary napkin she'd 

  wisely brought along, Eric saw how gauntly thin she'd 

  gotten. Her ribs and hipbones poked up from pale skin, 

  breasts shrunken. Kirstin was highly embarrassed that they'd 

  seen her this way, especially when she realized that they'd 

  gotten so used to seeing her naked that it didn't really 

  matter to them anymore. 

      He scooped her up carefully, backing out of the truck 

  and pausing in the shade. Kirstin threw an arm around his 

  neck, grinning, glad to finally be out. "You'll have to sit 

  in the shade," he told her. "With no tan and this sun you'll 

  burn."

      "Whatever. Jesus but it's beautiful out here," she 

  said, looking around at the verdant greenery, birds flashing 


                           1





  among the heavy-leafed trees, a soft breeze rustling the 

  surrounding forest and sweeping through their camp. "This 

  would be paradise on earth except for the way we got here."

      "Yeah, I know," Eric agreed, carrying her past the cold 

  stove and banked campfire to set her down in the shade in 

  front of the tent. "How's this?"

      "Good- hell, great!" she grinned up at him, white teeth 

  sparkling. He suddenly noticed the slightly crooked one, 

  something he'd taken for granted before but hadn't seen 

  since she'd been sick, realizing that he'd missed her 

  familiar smile. "You aren't getting me back in that truck, 

  you know." Sitting on one buttock, still sore and tender, 

  she braced herself on one arm and relaxed. 

      "You can't sleep out here," Eric said over his shoulder 

  as he went and got two medium-sized Tupperware bowls from 

  the side of the tent. "You've got a long way to go before 

  you're recovered."

      "Jewish mother," she taunted, still smiling. "Oops, I 

  forgot. Polish mother."

      "Maybe so," Eric retorted, sitting beside her 

  crosslegged. "But you know, we're going to have to hike it 

  out of here, and you and Paul will have to be in good shape 

  before we even attempt it."

      Her grin faded. "I hadn't thought of that. You're 

  right. Hey, raspberries!" She took the bowl he offered. 

  "Wow! Cherries, blackberries, little apples... what're 

  these?"

      "Boysenberries, Paul says. They're a little overripe, 

  but they taste great. Chow down, this is our lunch. We spent 


                           2





  all morning picking."

      Paul walked up, carrying damp clothes, hair wet, just 

  as they were finishing up. "You guys save me any? Glad to 

  see you up, Kirstin."

      "There's a bowl for you on the side of the tent," Eric 

  said. "I can't believe you finally washed your nasty ass."

      "And washed my clothes as best I could, so kiss my 

  ass," Paul grinned as he went and got his, then sat down on 

  Kirstin's other side. "That water's fucking cold and it 

  ain't easy to wash with one arm. But at least one side of me 

  is clean."

      "Are you trying to use that arm at all?" she asked, 

  noting that his sling was soaking wet.

      "A little," he said, popping a handful of assorted 

  berries in his mouth. "If it hurts I quit, but it's gettin' 

  better. How're you doing?"

      She shrugged, setting her empty orange bowl between her 

  and Eric. "Okay. Still sore as hell, but I'm getting 

  restless and bored. Doctor Cautious there won't let me do 

  jack shit."

      "Hey, with no medical facilities or real medicine, 

  we've got to be careful," Eric said.

      Paul turned to Kirstin again. "Did he show you the net 

  I made? No? Anyway, that's how we got the ducks for your 

  soup and we're going out for more later since it's gone. Do 

  you know how to pluck a bird? That'll give you something to 

  do."

      "No, can't say I ever have, but it looks like I'm going 

  to learn how. But what d'ya say we roast it instead of 


                           3





  making soup? It was okay, but mighty plain." She shifted 

  again, grimacing. "Fuck but this ground is hard, you know?"

      "Oh, shit, I forgot," Paul said, getting up and going 

  into the tent. Eric grinned and didn't say a word, Kirstin 

  wondering what was going on between the two of them. When 

  Paul returned he handed her the lynx fur, which was unevenly 

  folded into a square. "Here, use this to sit on, and it can 

  be a pillow at night."

      "Holy motherhumpin' shit! Where did you get this?!" she 

  asked incredulously, taking it from him. Eric held her up 

  while she adjusted it beneath her, and Paul told her how the 

  lynx had attacked him.

      "And I never did tell either of you about the bear I 

  saw while I was climbing up the mountain," Eric said when 

  Paul had finished his tale. "I'd sat down to have lunch and 

  this big fucking black bear just walked out of the bushes 

  down below me, maybe ten, twelve feet away. I freaked out 

  and froze, and that mutha just stood there looking at me 

  like it didn't know what I was. Then it walked away, as if 

  it didn't care."

      "That's weird, and the lynx attacking you," Kirstin 

  said, nodding at Paul. "Wild animals don't attack people 

  except in self-defense- they avoid us! In high school I 

  wanted to be a wildlife biologist, so I've studied wild 

  animals, mostly North American endangered species. Wild 

  animals aren't stupid. They've learned that man hunts them, 

  hurts them, and so they stay away from us."

      "Yeah, no shit," Paul nodded. "And that lynx was after 

  me, not the blood. If it had been, it probably would've 


                           4





  went after the quilt."

      "There's something going on here," Eric frowned, 

  looking at both of them. "Add it up. We haven't seen or 

  heard the slightest sign of civilization since we woke up 

  after the accident. The road's gone, I guarantee that. Wild 

  animals aren't afraid of us, hell, they ignore or attack! 

  And the radio's full of static. So what's that mean?"

      Kirstin shifted again, looking at each of them in turn. 

  "Time warp? Or something like that?"

      "Yeah! Maybe we found the Canadian Bermuda Triangle!" 

  Paul said excitedly, seizing on the idea. "Who knows, we 

  could be a hundred thousand years before we were born!"

      "Fuck, no!" Eric was disgusted. He'd laid the evidence 

  out in front of them and they were pretending they were in 

  Star Trek or The Twilight Zone.  "You've both been watching 

  too many movies. We're at war!"

      "War?!"  

      "War? Are you nuts? We're in Canada, remember, not the 

  U.S. They're not fighting anybody, they're neutral." Kirstin 

  licked dry lips unthinkingly and Paul got up, returning with 

  three plastic cups of water from a bucket kept in the shade 

  behind the tent. 

      Eric resumed his argument. "Canada sided with us 

  against Iraq. Strongly, too. If the Middle East attacked the 

  U.S., they'd probably go after Canada, our ally, too. Maybe 

  even South America, they're friendly."

      "That doesn't explain the animals or the road, just the 

  radio," Kirstin pointed out.

      Paul had gotten his cigarettes and now lit one, the 


                           5





  bluish-grey smoke wafting up into the clear, warm air. 

  "She's right, man. Nukes wouldn't cause-"

      "Who said anything about nukes? I'm thinking chemical 

  or biological warfare. We know they've got them. And a 

  scrambler sent up among the satellites would kill all 

  communications."

       Kirstin was tired, and not just from her recent 

  illness, but in spirit and mind. What Eric was suggesting 

  was not only no rescue, but possibly death and sickness 

  beyond what they'd already survived, and that everything and 

  everybody they'd left behind at home could be changed... or 

  dead. "Hey, I've got to go lay down for a while. I'm going 

  to sleep in the tent from now on, okay? I've had enough of 

  that cargo bed to last me a lifetime."

      "Yeah, all right. Paul, why don't you get her sleeping 

  bag from the truck and spread it out in there?"

      "It should be washed. Sco- the other one's dry, why 

  don't we use that instead?"  "Okay." After the clean 

  sleeping bag was inside, Paul held the tent flap while Eric 

  carried her in, half-bent-over as he was too tall to stand 

  up inside. After she was laying down and covered, Paul came 

  in and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mention Scott..."

      "Hey, hey," Kirstin reached out and squeezed his ankle. 

  "That's okay. I've got to deal with the fact that he's gone. 

  But let me sleep now."

      Outside the tent, Paul confronted Eric. "Do you really 

  think we're at war with the Arabs?"

      "Yeah, I do. What else can logically explain all this? 

  Your time warp theory?" "Well, it was hers, to give credit 


                           6





  where it's due. But even if we were at war, we'd know it, 

  wouldn't we? There'd be some signs, jets going over or 

  something. Especially if Russia's in on it, they might try 

  to take Alaska."

      "Yeah, maybe. You've got a point. But I'm not going to 

  believe we've gone back in time. There's no dinosaurs or-"

      "Who said anything about dinosaurs? This must be after 

  the Ice Age or we'd be in the middle of a glacier, even I 

  know that." Paul stepped closer, lowering his voice with a 

  furtive glance at the tent. "I been thinkin' about this, 

  man. I think we're just after the glaciers receded from 

  Canada and America. No way of telling unless we run into 

  people."

      "How's that?"

      "Depends on if they're Neanderthal or Cro-Magnon. If 

  we're really lucky they'll be early Homo Sapiens. I read 

  Kirstin's prehistoric books, remember? You guys teased me 

  about it."

      Eric rubbed his forehead and the top of his head, 

  noting in passing that his brush cut was growing out past 

  regulation length. "You mind if we drop it for now, Paul? 

  It's still early enough for me to take that hike."

      "All right. Hope you find a lake big enough for bass or 

  even pike. I ain't cleaning twenty bluegills to make a 

  decent meal!"

      

      Kirstin lay in the tent, listening, as they were just 

  outside the flap discussing their ideas. They seemed to have 

  forgotten that she had ears. The time warp idea of hers just 


                           7





  seemed to make sense somehow, though it was beyond her to 

  figure out how that had happened when there was a clear 

  trail of the truck's passage down the side of the mountain. 

  Maybe that storm had something to do with it. The thunder 

  and lightening were bad. It's my guess, anyway. No matter 

  what, though, this sucks. None of us know shit about living 

  off the land except what me and Paul picked up out of those 

  books, and his dad's hunting videos. Hiking with a pack full 

  of freeze-dried food is a lot different than this.

      Then, as Paul and Eric left camp and she was beginning 

  to doze off, her thoughts turned unwillingly to Scott. She 

  recalled how they'd met: she'd been walking her dog, a 

  wolf/husky hybrid, down a sidestreet when she'd noticed the 

  same car going past her then turning at the corner several 

  times. Finally she'd stopped and turned, waiting for the car 

  again, and when the white Firebird reappeared, it pulled 

  over beside her. The guy inside had hair past his collar and 

  a beard, unlike the preppie types she usually dated, and 

  that piqued her interest. But it was her dog, Nefra, that 

  decided the issue. She usually didn't like any of the men 

  Kirstin brought to her place, but as they approached the car 

  Nefra jumped up on the driver's door, grinning in her unique 

  way, and let the man inside pet her. And trusting the dog's 

  perceptions, Kirstin had agreed to go out with Scott that 

  same night.

      Less than three months later he'd moved into her 

  duplex. It was then that her life had really  changed, for 

  no longer did she simply exist, going to work and back, 

  dating bland, unexciting men occasionally, or going out to 


                           8





  the bar with her friends. Though often short on 

  money--neither of them made much--Scott was a dynamic, 

  friendly person and could always think of something to do, 

  be it strip poker, Monopoly, or just going out for a long 

  walk and talking. And their sex life was, to her, simply 

  amazing. Before meeting Scott she'd slept with two men, one 

  in high school just to lose her virginity, and the other had 

  bored her to death. Scott brought out both the best and 

  worst in her, since there had been times when their volatile 

  tempers clashed.

      Two years ago Scott had gotten into it with her 

  landlord and they'd been flatly evicted. For six months 

  they'd reluctantly lived apart, Scott with Paul's family, 

  Kirstin with a friend who lived about ten miles away. Then, 

  with their combined savings and income tax returns, they'd 

  put $5000 down on a house of their own, a dream both of them 

  shared. The only thing that had always annoyed and 

  dissatisfied Kirstin was Scott's adamant refusal to get 

  married... something that could never happen now...

      She woke suddenly to pitch blackness, aware only that 

  something had awakened her. Beyond the steady breathing of 

  the two men sleeping in the tent with her was a stealthy 

  rustling noise from outside. Without thinking about it, she 

  threw off the unzipped cover of the sleeping bag and crawled 

  to the front of the tent on her hands and knees. Paul and 

  Eric slept on soundly. She pushed aside the untied tent flap 

  and squinted, able to see little in the dark beyond the 

  faint orange glow from the banked campfire.

      Probably just a raccoon or squirrel after our buried 


                           9





  garbage. I told Eric to start digging trash dumps away from 

  camp. She crawled on outside, suddenly aware of being 

  thirsty. I'll scare it away and see if I can find the water 

  bucket. Slowly, carefully she rose to her feet, swaying 

  slightly until she found her balance, realizing that this 

  was the first time she'd stood up since her miscarriage. 

  It's coming from over there, by the truck. Maybe if I poke 

  up the fire that'll scare it away. She bent over slowly, 

  becoming aware of how weak and unsteady she was, feeling 

  along the ground for a stick and finding one propped against 

  the hearthstones. Tossing twigs and sticks from the ground 

  onto the fire, she stirred it up, blowing until the embers 

  burst into flame. She looked up into a pair of gleaming red 

  eyes about a foot off the ground, just beyond the fire's 

  feeble glow, and recognized the sound of low, intense 

  growling.

      Too shocked to scream, she froze in place and stared at 

  the unknown animal, its figure and size cloaked by the 

  darkness. The red eyes began to circle the fireplace, a 

  glimpse of snarling white teeth visible for a moment. What 

  in the flying fuck is that?! It can't be too big, but it's 

  growling and the eyes are pretty far apart. Bear cub? 

  Another lynx? That might even be a wolf with its head down. 

  Are all these crazy animals rabid? Where in the hell is 

  Eric's gun? Shit, I don't know how to load or use it. A knot 

  popped in the fire, light flaring, and she clearly saw the 

  broad, blunt-snouted head, a big white patch above the small 

  eyes, for a second. It looked like some kind of creature 

  from hell and she finally did suck in her breath to scream, 


                           10





  but a deep quiet voice spoke from behind her: "Don't move, 

  Kirstin. Don't even breathe. Just freeze."

      She recognized Eric's voice and with an effort, 

  controlled her fear. Feeling something brush her bare calf, 

  she glanced down and saw the gun, clutched in two hands, 

  extending into the range of the dying firelight. The unknown 

  animal's growling grew louder and then the night was torn 

  apart by a roar and brilliant flashes as Eric pulled the 

  trigger in a short burst.

      When the shooting stopped there was a horrible, 

  high-pitched squealing. Eric got up from where he'd been 

  laying half out of the tent. He had the flashlight in his 

  hand and now turned it on. The animal writhing and 

  screeching in agony on the other side of the campfire was 

  much bigger than she'd thought, and when he handed her the 

  light and went over to put it out of its misery, she 

  followed.

      Paul walked up as they stood over the dead animal after 

  one more shot. "Jesus, what is that? A badger?"

      "No, a wolverine. Son of a bitch is huge! Must be five 

  feet from nose to tail." Eric turned to Kirstin, who was 

  shivering more from delayed reaction than from the cool 

  night breeze. He put an arm around her, handing Paul the 

  gun, and pulled her against his warm, shirtless side. "Are 

  you all right? Come on, sit down over here."

      "Uh-huh, I'm okay. God, it is big! I thought it was a 

  bear cub, or another lynx." She leaned against him, needing 

  and appreciating the contact. 

      Glancing at his glow-in-the-dark watch, Paul said, 


                           11





  "It's almost five-thirty. Since the sun'll be up in an hour, 

  I think I'll stay up and start skinning it. I wonder if the 

  meat's any good? We could use it."

      "No, it's a carnivore, so I doubt it. I'll stay up too, 

  so you can show me how to do it. You many as well go back to 

  sleep, Kirstin. You're not-"

      "Hey, I'm no porcelain doll that's going to break if 

  I'm dropped!" Kirstin protested, throwing her head back and 

  looking up at him. Her tangled hair, which fell just past 

  her shoulders, tumbled over his bare arm. "I've got enough 

  good sense to rest if I have to. And I need to know how to 

  butcher an animal, too."

      Eric shrugged, letting go of her and walking to the 

  tent. Kirstin suddenly felt bereft, cold, and alone, and 

  wished he would have kept his arm around her. It had been so 

  long, it seemed, since she'd been close to another person 

  like that, and she craved the contact. But instead of saying 

  or doing anything, she helped them with the wolverine, 

  holding the flashlight as they gutted it, fighting back her 

  unsettled stomach as they pulled out its internal organs. 

  But she'd never been squeamish, so she made herself join in 

  on the skinning as soon as it got light enough. Paul showed 

  her how to fist the skin away from muscle and fat, cutting 

  only the connecting blood vessels carefully, not poking the 

  tip of his sharp Buck knife through the skin. "There's 

  enough holes in it already from Rambo here," he joked.

      While he took it down to the stream to wash, she and 

  Eric threw together a meal, searching the Cherokee for 

  anything they might have overlooked. After staking out the 


                           12





  skin for curing, they sat in the shade of the tent to eat. 

  "This is the last of the canned food," Kirstin told them 

  through a mouthful of chili. "Now we'll really be living off 

  the land, whatever we can hunt, fish, or find."

      "Guess I'll have to go hunting," Eric said, dipping a 

  stale Ritz cracker into his bowl. They'd found half a tube 

  of open Ritzes in the glove compartment and shared the treat 

  out equally. "Why don't you show Kirstin how to cure the 

  skin, Paul? I don't think I have the patience for it."

      "You know what I miss already?" Kirstin sighed. "Bread. 

  Good old Home Pride buttertop white bread. And Taco Bell. 

  I'd love a Burrito Supreme."

      "Nachos. Loaded with cheese, hot peppers, and 

  guacamole." Eric added dreamily.

      "No- a Tubby's pizza steak sub," Paul said. "Or a 

  Hardee's mushroom burger."

      KIrstin laughed suddenly. "Aren't we gourmets! Next 

  thing you know we'll be missing getting diarrhea from White 

  Castle burgers!"

      "Shit, let's quit torturing ourselves. With any luck 

  we'll be having venison steaks tonight." Eric collected 

  their empty bowls and set them aside. "Paul, give me some 

  ideas on how to get a deer. I've never even thought about 

  hunting one before!"

      But Paul's video-and book-inspired hunting tips did him 

  no good that day, nor several after. He used up a full clip 

  shooting at rabbits, getting several, but never even 

  catching a glimpse of deer though the woods were full of 

  their distinctive cloven-hoofed tracks where the ground was 


                           13





  soft. But late one evening he brought back a large beaver, 

  excitedly telling the others that there was a good-sized 

  lake about an hour's walk southeast, closer than the marshy 

  one he'd seen from up on the mountain. "And I saw goddam 

  fish jumping like you wouldn't believe!"

      "Where's the fishing stuff?" Paul asked, jumping up 

  from where he and Kirstin were stretching and rubbing the 

  almost-finished wolverine fur. "Come on, let's go!"

      "Whoa, wait a minute!" Eric laughed, his gold glasses 

  flashing in the late afternoon sunlight. He tossed the dead 

  beaver down by the cold Coleman stove. "Not only is it too 

  late to go, but I'm fucking starving and that beaver looks 

  like it's mighty good. Probably better than rabbit, which 

  I'm getting sick of. Why don't we just wait until morning 

  and spend a couple of days there?" While Eric, with Paul's 

  verbal help, butchered the beaver, Kirstin dug out the 

  skewer and supports that went with the stove, and set them 

  up. "You know, I remember once reading somewhere that 

  woodland Indians considered beaver's tail a delicacy. They 

  wrapped it up in hay or leaves, but we can use tinfoil, and 

  buried it in coals. Want to try it?"

      "Sure, why not," Eric nodded, pausing, up to his wrists 

  in blood. "Jesus, there isn't as much of this left as I 

  thought there would be once the skin is removed."

      That night they feasted on roasted beaver, which had a 

  sweet unique taste that they all liked. Between the three of 

  them they ate it all, including the tail which, once the 

  blackened leathery skin was cracked open, had the puffy 

  white texture of overcooked shrimp but was rich and 


                           14





  meaty-tasting.

      Early the next morning they loaded up their packs, 

  rolled up the sleeping bags and tent, grabbed fishing gear 

  and set out. Paul was so eager to fish that he ranged far 

  ahead, but in deference to Kirstin's still uncertain 

  condition Eric stayed back with her, resting when she needed 

  to. They picked and ate berries along the way, plus the last 

  few Slim Jims they'd also found in the glove compartment.

      "Hey! I see it!" Came Paul's faint voice from ahead. 

  "C'mon, you guys, the fish're just waiting to be taken!"

      Eric snorted. He and Kirstin were walking down a deer 

  path through thick woods that was just barely wide enough 

  for both of them, branches and leaves brushing them. 

  "Nothing like being enthusiastic, huh?"

      "No shit. He's probably already got a handful of worms 

  dug."

      "I'm going to use a spoon and see... what happens..." 

  Eric let his voice trail off and he slowed, putting a hand 

  on her arm. "Kirstin, listen."

      She stopped beside him. "What?" Cocking her head, she 

  listened intently. "All I hear is a damned lot of birds," 

  she finally shrugged. "What'd you hear?"

      "No... something else... something's not right," he 

  said in a low voice.

      "Probably nothing," she said, but began to feel uneasy 

  too. Just then a roar shattered the air, close by, and 

  without waiting to see what it was, they took off running 

  for their lives.

  (3997)


                           15





                    CHAPTER IV- TENSION

                              

      Paul wasn't digging worms. Instead, he'd located a 

  spider web among the cattails along the banks of the lake, 

  and after looking at the insects trapped there, which would 

  tell him what the fish in this particular lake ate, he went 

  to the tacklebox and began sorting through the lures. While 

  a plug, spoon, or minnow would be a better bet for the 

  bigger fish, it was doubtful that they'd catch any near the 

  shore. There was, however, a steep ledge hanging out over 

  the water halfway around the right side. I'd bet there's big 

  bass under there. Man, if we just had a boat..! Damn, 

  they're still jumping, and it's almost noon. Whatever that 

  was, it was big. Wonder if there's trout in that river 

  leading off the lake? Only one way to find-

      An earthshaking roar rose from the forest behind him 

  and Paul whirled, kicking the tacklebox accidentally, as a 

  galvanizing jolt of adrenalin shot through him. Lures and 

  hooks scattered across the sandy ground. Kirstin and Eric 

  burst from the heavy foliage on his left, fear and confusion 

  audible on their faces. Paul opened his mouth but Eric shook 

  his head, dragging Kirstin over so they stood in a tight 

  huddle, looking around fearfully. As the roar began to taper 

  off another one rose, slightly lower in pitch but no less 

  deafening.

      Got to be bears fighting, Kirstin thought, unknowingly 

  clinging to both men. Paul was so terrified that he couldn't 

  have moved if the earth had cracked open beneath his feet. 

  Eric, however, had reached the same conclusion as she had, 


                           1





  and hoped that if the enraged bear--or bears--came at them, 

  the other two would have enough sense to climb a tree. His 

  guess was that they were grizzlies, which couldn't climb 

  because of their bulk. If he was wrong and those were 

  smaller brown or black bears, like the one he'd seen, 

  though, they could be in serious, dangerous trouble. He'd 

  heard that the smaller bears could climb.

      After what seemed like eons but was, in reality, only a 

  few minutes, the roaring duo died off with a few loud grunts 

  and rumbles between the two distinctive voices, trees and 

  brush crackling as the combatants moved their fight away. 

      Kirstin leaned against Eric, sighing with relief. 

  "Well, at least we know we're in bear country."

      Paul's legs folded and he dropped bonelessly to the 

  ground. 

      Unconsciously Eric put his arm around Kirstin's 

  shoulders and squeezed. "Fuckin' A. No shit. I bet those 

  were grizzlies."

      Paul looked up at them disbelievingly, then lowered his 

  forehead into his good hand. "We almost got between two 

  fighting bears and you two are busy wondering what kind they 

  were? Jesus, I think I pissed myself!"

      Eric let go of Kirstin and helped Paul to his feet, the 

  former two laughing. "Hey, I wasn't any less scared than 

  you," he admitted, brushing a leaf off the other's shoulder. 

  "I was looking for the nearest tall, strong tree."

      "No shit! Me too!" Kirstin shrugged out of her light 

  pack, lowering it to the ground. "Well, that's over. 

  Where're we going to set up the tent?"


                           2





      "Wait, wait, wait," Paul stared at her, then at Eric. 

  "We're not staying here, are we? There's bears around!"

       "Come on, Paul, get real. This is the Northwest 

  Territories. There's bears everywhere."

      "She's right, you know." Eric nodded, shrugging out of 

  his duffel as well. "Unless we sleep in a tree we're not 

  really safe, and not even then. Brown and black bears can 

  climb."

      "And, like you said, at least we know there's bears 

  around." Kirstin added.

      "Oh, all-fucking-right! But if we don't start catching 

  fish pretty soon the risk's wasted, so let's get to it!" 

      He and Kirstin unpacked and set up the tent, Eric going 

  to get wood and start the fire. Once the tent was up, Paul 

  lugged the fishing gear over to the ledge he'd noticed 

  earlier. He threw out a small black trout fly and no sooner 

  had it touched water than he saw a good-sized fish snap it 

  up. "Hey, I already got a bite!"

      Kirstin looked up from unloading her pack. "Don't catch 

  'em all before we get a chance."

      "Fuck! Don't think I'll have a choice!" Paul yelled 

  back, pulling and reeling frantically. The fish ran, then 

  struggled, but finally tired out and let Paul work him to 

  the bank. "Big ol' bass! Four or five pounds, at least!"

      Eric dumped a second armload of branches at the edge of 

  the clearing. Unsheathing his knife he tossed it, blade 

  down, into a patch of prickle-weed near the front of the 

  tent. "I'll dig the firepit there."

      "Oh, hell, c'mon, let's fish," Kirstin stood, blowing 


                           3





  hair out of her eyes. "We can finish setting up later."

      "Yeah, you're right," Eric turned and followed her to 

  the lake. "May as well do what we came out here for in the 

  first place!"

      While she rummaged through the lures, looking for 

  another fly since Paul was having so much luck with one, 

  Eric pulled the collapsible net from the bottom of the 

  tacklebox, throwing the stringer to Paul while he was at it. 

  He scooped minnows from the shallows, and as he was hooking 

  one through the dorsal fin, Kirstin let out a yell. "I don't 

  know what I've got, but it's one hell of a fighter! Damn 

  near took the pole out of my hands when it grabbed on!"

      Eric tossed his line out to her right, then shaded his 

  eyes as a fish jumped a few feet away. "It's a walleye or 

  pike. Doesn't look quite legal size, though."

      "It feels like a monster!"

      "Let him run. He'll tire- son of a bitch, I got 

  something!"

      "Paul, give me a hand. It may not be big but it's 

  strong!"

      "Hang on. This fucker swallowed the hook." Paul had his 

  largemouth bass between his knees, digging for the hook down 

  its throat with a pair of needlenose pliers. "And this's the 

  last fly, I think."

      "Yeah, I couldn't find another, so I used-"

      "Kirstin, look out! We're gonna cross! Reel, 

  goddammit!"

      "Why the fuck did you throw your line out when you knew 

  I had a bite?" she snapped, pulling back until her body was 


                           4





  on a seventy-five-degree angle. Paul saw her struggling and 

  left his fish, which had half of its guts hanging from its 

  yawing mouth, to help her. But no sooner had he walked up 

  behind her than the line snapped, sending her tumbling into 

  him, both of them sprawling backwards to land in a tangle of 

  bushes. Kirstin's head smacked into his collarbone hard 

  enough to bring tears to his eyes. Arms and legs tangled 

  with his and the brush, Kirstin struggled to get free and 

  sit up, cursing steadily. Paul's bad shoulder, which hadn't 

  been bothering him much, suddenly sent jolts of pain into 

  his neck, chest and arm as Kirstin rolled over half on top 

  of him. But even more noticeable was the pair of soft 

  breasts pressing into his belly as she struggled. His 

  shoulder was forgotten as his groin tightened, excitement 

  and embarrassment warring. She stopped dead as she felt the 

  famililar-yet-strange feel of an erection against her side. 

  It was only strange because it definitely wasn't Scott's.

      With a muffled sob she shoved away from him, scrambled 

  to her feet, stumbled two steps out of the undergrowth, 

  tripped over a rock then caught herself, running to 

  disappear into the dense trees and undergrowth ringing the 

  small clearing. 

      "What the fuck is going on?!" Eric yelled, holding up a 

  palm-sized bass.

      "Shut up!" Paul snarled in return, awkwardly rolling to 

  one side and getting up. "Never fucking mind. I don't know. 

  Christ, ain't this whole thing fucked up!"

      Eric threw the small fish back and set his rod aside. 

  "Well, I'm going after her. Those bears could come back."


                           5





      "No, don't! I embarrassed her... and myself, and 

  probably made her think of Scott."

      "What'd you do, grab her tit?"

      "FUCKYOU!"  Paul whirled to face Eric, his face livid, 

  scarlet with humiliation. "I got a hard-on, OK? She landed 

  right on top of me, I couldn't help it!"

      "Oh shit." For once Eric couldn't think of anything to 

  say. His mind was a complete blank.

      Paul stomped to the edge of the lake a few feet away 

  and knelt, splashing water on his face with one hand. "Man, 

  I can't believe I did that. I sure as hell didn't mean to, 

  it just happened, but I know I hurt her. And how can I 

  apologize for something I didn't mean?"

      "Yeah, I know. Can't control a dick. I got hard once 

  when this bitch came in the bank with a black leather 

  miniskirt, and she wasn't even goodlooking."

      "Shut up already." Paul sighed. "I guess I should go 

  talk to her."

      "No, leave her alone. She'll be back. She probably 

  needs the time alone. I'll go see if I can find her, but I 

  won't bother her. I just want to make sure she's all right."

      "Yeah." Paul turned to look in the direction she'd run. 

  "But, goddammit, I feel bad."



      Kirstin sat hunched at the base of an immense maple 

  tree, arms wrapped around her knees, forehead resting on her 

  wrists. Hot tears ran steadily down her face, dripping 

  between her knees, her slender body wracked with 

  uncontrollable sobs. I thought I was over him. I kept 


                           6





  telling myself "Oh, that wasn't so bad. He's gone but I'll 

  be okay." There's nothing I can do, he's gone, I've got to 

  go on. He'd want me to. But oh holy god how I miss him! I 

  miss him so damned bad. When I least expect it, it hits me: 

  he's dead. I keep expecting to see him, walking beside me, 

  next to me in the sleeping bag when I wake up. But he's not, 

  and he'll never be again even if we get out of here. And 

  then I'll have to go home and face that empty house, all the 

  reminders of him...

      A fresh burst of sobbing tore through her as she 

  struggled, forcing herself to deal with Scott's death, which 

  she now realized she had tried to ignore or forget about. 

  Why'd we have to come on this fucking trip? And it was my 

  idea. I'd give anything to be back in the house right now, 

  being annoyed by his griping about work or the bills. Or 

  even better, to be in bed with him...

      The tears tapered off as she was assaulted by memories. 

  Just the day before they'd left Scott had gotten amorous 

  while she was cooking dinner. Though slightly annoyed by the 

  interruption while she was busy, she'd let him work his 

  unfailing magic on her. Stove and microwave shut off, he'd 

  simply lowered her jogging shorts and bent her over the 

  kitchen table, never mind the open curtains. Only minutes 

  later they'd collapsed to the floor, both satisfied though 

  it had been quick- sweaty, laughing, and loving. 

      She lifted her head, brushing back the tendrils of hair 

  that stuck to her damp, flushed, warm face. Scott had been 

  the best part of her life so far, no doubt about that. Going 

  on seemed pointless... what was there to go on to?  The 


                           7





  house and both cars were now hers, since they'd been in both 

  of their names, but what was her reason for living? Simply 

  existing? Being in that house would be sheer torture, seeing 

  his clothes, gun collection, and his military books among 

  her romances in the bookcase he'd bought her last Christmas.

      Stretching her legs out, Kirstin picked her hair up off 

  her neck with one hand, wiping sweat from her nape with the 

  other. She noted that her hair was getting long, longer than 

  she usually kept it, and thought about asking Eric to cut 

  it. She remembered how their friends had gotten a kick out 

  of the fact that Scott's hair had usually been longer than 

  Kirstin's. She had liked his long hair--he had beautiful 

  hair and knew it--and she'd understood his reason for 

  keeping it so long: eight years in the military had been 

  long enough for him to have to keep his hair short. She 

  stretched, feeling the back of her bare arms scrape lightly 

  against the tree's rough bark. A glance upward showed the 

  sun sinking to her left. Guess I should head back, they'll 

  worry about me with the bears around. Don't know what to say 

  or how to act around Paul, though. It totally freaked me out 

  when I felt him hard. I know it wasn't because of my lush, 

  sensual body, ha ha... I probably don't weigh a hundred 

  pounds, I'm all bones. No doubt it was just a reaction he 

  couldn't help, but damn, he's BIG. Stop it, Kirstin Anne 

  Warland! But that's one thing that made me freak out. 

  Couldn't help but notice. A lot bigger than Scott, and he 

  wasn't small. Jesus, what are you thinking about, woman?! 

  Shit... that's one of my problems... it made me horny. I've 

  heard that grief causes strange reactions, but this is 


                           8





  ridiculous. I can feel it, the excitement, the wanting, deep 

  inside me. But shit, even if Scott was here I couldn't, so 

  I may as well forget about it. I could always get myself 

  off... no, I feel too conspicuous out here. If one of them 

  walked up while I was masturbating I'd die of embarrassment. 

  No... hell, I'd probably jump on them and ball their brains 

  out the way I feel right now, sore or not, bleeding or not. 

  She sighed, wearing a rueful grin, then got to her feet. She 

  crossed the small clearing she'd stopped in, realizing that 

  she had no idea of which way camp and the lake was, but 

  before she could call out, the bushes behind her rustled and 

  she turned to see Eric stepping out. Both stopped, looking 

  at each other wordlessly.

      She was rumpled, disheveled, leaves and dirt stuck to 

  her black shorts, hair a dark tangled mass. Her body was as 

  slender as a young tree, long legs pale, breasts not large 

  but definitely there, the hard nipples poking through her 

  thin aqua cotton shirt. Her eyes were huge, shadowed, 

  undeniably tragic. Yet she was beautiful in a way Eric had 

  never seen her before, standing wary as a wild deer there in 

  the dappled sunlight.

      Kirstin didn't know how to react, feeling 

  uncomfortable. How much had Paul told him? What had Paul 

  thought happened, anyway?

      Eric walked to her and put his arms around her, holding 

  her tightly. Though he'd only intended to comfort her, the 

  way she pressed herself against him, slender arms twining 

  around his bare neck and shoulders, brought the same 

  reaction as Paul had had. 


                           9





      Kirstin, her eyes tightly closed, felt only a 

  rock-hard, warm man's body against her own and was dissolved 

  by her own denied passion, melting against him without 

  thought.

      Her breath against his ear, the soft body molded to 

  his, brought more than a physical reaction from Eric. Lost 

  in sensation, aware only that he held a willing woman when 

  he hadn't for years, he took the back of her head in one 

  hand and turned her face up to his. They kissed hard, mouths 

  slanting against each other, lips and tongues tangling.

      Endlessly they clung together, bodies unconsciously 

  urging them to nature's conclusion.

      But Eric finally caught hold of himself, pulling back, 

  gasping for breath, resting his forehead against hers. After 

  a heavy, pregnant pause, while they both regained their 

  senses, he finally said, "Kirstin... I can't say I'm sorry, 

  because I'm not, but I didn't mean this to happen. It isn't 

  right."

      "I know." She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed 

  away, looking at him, naked desire shining from her eyes. 

  "Must be something in the air today, I don't know. I will 

  tell you that I've thought of you, but I would never do more 

  than think while I was with Scott. Now, it's too soon."

      "Maybe we're reacting to grief." Eric looked back into 

  her eyes, letting his own feelings show openly. "It's going 

  to be torture from here on, especially around Paul."

      "No shit!" Kirstin pulled free of his loose grasp on 

  her waist and whirled away. She turned, a pained frown on 

  her oval face, deciding to be honest with him. "Before you 


                           10





  came out here I was remembering how it was with Scott. Sex, 

  I mean." She strode around the tiny clearing as she talked, 

  agitated, anguished. "I miss him. God, how I miss him! Not 

  just sex, that was incredible too, but just him. Even his 

  goddamned bitching about stupid things. Just thinking about 

  me and him in bed got me hot. Shit, I almost got myself off, 

  that's how bad it was! Maybe we should have a circle jerk 

  and then we'd all feel better without the guilt!"

      Despite himself Eric burst out laughing. Hands on hips, 

  he threw his head back and let it roll, hearing the echo 

  bounce around. Kirstin stopped in her tracks, frowning, then 

  grinned, finally beginning to laugh herself. She had meant 

  it to be sarcastic, not funny, but it was, and the laughter 

  relieved some of the tension between them.

  (2876) 
















                           11





                CHAPTER X- MISUNDERSTANDINGS

     

      The sun was barely hovering above the highest western 

  peaks when Eric glanced up and said, "It's going to get dark 

  soon. We'd better stop and set up camp."

      Paul was struggling with a reluctant fish, his 

  lightweight aluminum pole bent nearly double. "Let me get 

  this mutha in," he ground out from between clenched teeth, 

  releasing the reel and letting the fish run for a bit before 

  starting to reel again.

      Kirstin looped the line around her pole and secured the 

  hook to one of the guides. Kneeling and pulling up the metal 

  gill-stringer, she told him, "You've probably got one of 

  those five-inch baby pike that fight like five-footers. 

  Eric, give me a hand with this." Together they pulled up the 

  stringer, which was nearly filled with bass, perch, 

  grayling, and crappie. They had caught eight or ten pike and 

  muskie, but none had been big enough to keep, and many 

  sunfish and carp that had been thrown back as well. 

      Letting the stringer and its wiggling load fall to the 

  ground, Eric began to gather up the tackle. Paul gave a 

  tremendous yank on his pole, barely missing the other man's 

  head. "Watch it, you asshole! If you like getting hit with a 

  fishing pole then I'd be glad to dick-whip you," Paul 

  grunted, catching hold of the line and six-inch pike that 

  was hanging from the hook.

      "Eat shit, needledick. You couldn't find yours with a 

  pair of tweezers and an electron microscope."

      Kirstin grinned, thinking mischievously that she knew 


                           1





  better than that--in fact, she knew exactly what both of 

  them had in their pants--but it wouldn't be a good idea to 

  jump into the conversation and say so. Especially since she 

  and Paul had made their peace. He had tried to stutter an 

  apology as soon as she and Eric had returned, but she'd cut 

  him off and told him to forget it ever happened. Now if she 

  could only forget what had happened between her and Eric in 

  the forest...

      Paul threw back the little pike. "Come back when you're 

  all grown up," he called as the sleek fish disappeared into 

  the crystalline water with a flick of its tail. "OK, guys, 

  let's go eat."

      "Are you crazy? It'll take two hours to clean and cook 

  all these, not to mention foraging." They were all aware of 

  the danger of scurvy and were careful to eat some sort of 

  fiber or vegetable at every meal if they could.

      "Hang on. If we each do one thing we'll get done 

  faster. Me and Eric can clean and start cooking the fish, 

  and you go looking for vegetables or berries. How's that?"

      "Fine by me. Kirstin?"

      "Let's go." She carried the rods, walking along the 

  bank to their small campsite. The men followed, carrying 

  stringer and tacklebox. Eric took the fish to the scrubby, 

  sandy bank and pulled out his knife, setting to work without 

  hesitation. Paul put the tacklebox near the tent and went to 

  help.

      Kirstin found the big clear, deep plastic Tupperware 

  bowl they used for foraging, then headed into the woods. She 

  left a careful trail of broken branches and scuff marks in 


                           2





  the dirt, not caring to get lost again.

      Eric took a break to dig the firepit and lined it with 

  good-sized rocks found around and in the lake, then lit a 

  fire. "I saw some long, flat stones over there that we could 

  use to roast the fish on," Paul pointed with one 

  gore-smeared finger. "When the fire's down to coals set 'em 

  in it and the fish'll cook pretty quick, just like a frying 

  pan."

      "I was wondering how we were going to cook them since 

  the frying pan was lost in the accident," Eric admitted, 

  returning to help clean and scale fish.

      "My dad showed me another way, too. You wrap whole fish 

  in tinfoil and stick 'em in the fire. But this way we can 

  fillet 'em and they'll cook faster." Slitting a perch's 

  belly and pulling out its innards, Paul added, "Eric, I been 

  thinkin'. What're we going to do? Winter's coming. I mean, 

  it's still months away, but it comes early here and it's bad 

  this far north-"

      Eric picked up a smallmouth bass from the slowly 

  dwindling pile and staked it to the ground with a stick 

  through its tail Paul had sharpened earlier for just that 

  purpose, then began scaling it. "According to the atlas, 

  Fort Laird's closest. We'll have to walk out. Shouldn't take 

  more than a couple of weeks, tops."

      Paul stopped and looked over at him with a frown. "If 

  there ain't no road I don't think we're going to find a town 

  or city, man."

      Eric looked back, annoyed. "So what do you suggest we 

  do?"


                           3





      The other shrugged, beginning to fillet his perch. "I 

  dunno. That's why I asked you."

      "You're a big fucking help."

      "Yeah, I know."

      They worked in silence for a time, silver scales 

  flashing through the air, the pile of fish guts and bones 

  growing in front of them as the paper plate of fillets also 

  increased, but more slowly. But finally the pile was done 

  and Eric got up to bury the offal. When he returned with the 

  folding military shovel, Paul was holding the plate of raw 

  fish and looking off into space thoughtfully. Eric couldn't 

  resist saying, "Looks to me like that grey matter in your 

  empty head is actually doing some kind of work. Doesn't it 

  hurt?"

      But Paul didn't reply to the remark with his usual 

  aptness. Instead he said quietly, "Eric, have you missed not 

  having sex?"

      "Yes and no. I can live without it. It's better than 

  wondering again." Paul knew what had happened to him in 

  North Carolina.

      "I miss it a lot. Sherri was always there for me, when 

  we could find a place. Shit, we did it in the pool room 

  balcony in the high school, under the bleachers during a 

  football game..."

      "Quit torturing yourself. If it's that bad go jack off, 

  man. You know I do, I've told you. I don't care who knows. 

  It's part of being the human animal- it'll come out one way 

  or another."

      Paul turned to look at his friend, then dropped his 


                           4





  eyes and said low, "But I know I don't have to. That's the 

  problem. Ever since she... landed on me... I can't help it- 

  shit, I keep thinking about it, how she felt on top of me. 

  I've wanted-"

      "Forget it." Eric's brown eyes were steely behind the 

  gold glasses. "She just had a fucking miscarriage and you 

  want to ball her brains out?!"

      "Yeah, I know she had a miscarriage! I saw it!" Paul 

  snapped back. "That doesn't make her any less a woman, does 

  it? Besides, I wouldn't touch her now, even if she'd let me. 

  Shit, she'd probably choose you anyway."

      Eric scowled and opened his mouth, guiltily wondering 

  if Paul had noticed something between him and Kirstin when 

  they'd returned, but before he could reply a husky voice 

  spoke from behind them: "Who says I'm going to choose 

  anybody, anyway?"

      They turned slowly, Paul cringing, his face shading to 

  dusky red. "Kirstin-"

      "Fuck you. Shut up." She threw the large bowl at them, 

  roots, leaves, nuts, and berries flying out. "I don't 

  appreciate being discussed like a ten-dollar whore. I 

  thought we came to an agreement!" She stood with hands on 

  hips, legs spread. "Just to fuck your heads up, I'm gonna 

  take a bath. You can look all you want, it doesn't bother 

  me, but don't touch or you won't have cocks to brag about 

  anymore." She yanked her shirt over her head, then pushed 

  down the black jogging shorts to reveal a pair of slightly 

  bloodstained yellow cotton briefs, the bulge of a sanitary 

  napkin visible between her legs. Then she took those, too, 


                           5





  off, and walked unselfconsciously into the water. 

  "Fuh-huh-huck, it's cold! Did we bring the soap?"



      Dinner was fish fillets cooked on hot rocks and a salad 

  of greens, blueberries, and walnuts, which Kirstin had 

  discovered in an abandoned squirrel's nest in the hollow 

  trunk of a tree. They ate in an uncomfortable silence, the 

  men uneasy, Kirstin aloof and smugly triumphant. She had 

  dressed warmly in a sweatshirt, Eric's black jeans (the legs 

  had to be rolled up, but otherwise they fit well), and 

  Paul's camo jacket after her swim. The evening was cooler 

  than any they'd had since the accident.

      Eric eyed her warily as he set his paper plate aside 

  and wiped his fingers on the grass. He didn't want to test 

  her mood, but wondered about her attitude. He could 

  understand her being angry at Paul with his big stupid 

  mouth, but why him? He'd been defending her! __Maybe she's 

  just pissed at men in general right now. But that doesn't 

  make sense. Could it be she's pissed because she thinks I 

  told Paul about what happened between us in the forest? She 

  said something about neither of us having cocks to brag 

  about any more... just how much did she hear? Maybe she 

  thought we were betting on who would have her first. If 

  that's it well, then, she's going to be a royal pain in the 

  ass from now on. Great. I've got to talk to her, somehow, 

  but I doubt she'll listen to either of us right now.

  __  Sitting crosslegged, staring half-hypnotized into the 

  low, flickering flames, Paul's thoughts were running along a 

  similar track. __How can I tell her that I didn't mean it 


                           6





  like it sounded? It was just talk. I'm... frustrated. 

  Sherri's been there for me for the last four years. She was 

  always ready, never told me no. I think she spoiled me. 

  Doesn't Kirstin know I was just bullshitting? Wonder how I 

  can get her to understand that when she won't even talk to 

  me?

  __  Kirstin got up suddenly, collected the paper plates and 

  tossed them in the refuse hole Eric had dug off to one side 

  near the water. She set the Tupperware bowl down near where 

  they'd cleaned the fish earlier, intending to wash it in the 

  morning. She felt restless, wanting to go for a walk, but 

  was more uneasy about the bears after dark. She paced the 

  shoreline at the edge of the firelight, thinking. A loon 

  cried its crazy, whooping call, startling her. She glanced 

  over at the fire, seeing the men still sitting silently, 

  then crouched at the edge of the water and dabbled her 

  fingers in. __Fucking assholes. They think I'm stupid. I'm 

  not like that airhead Sherri, a brainless robot who fucks 

  Paul's brains out just so she can say she has a steady 

  boyfriend, or those stuck-up bitches Eric used to go out 

  with, who would probably only open their legs for a solid 

  gold cock. They're not going to threaten or coerce me, and 

  all the talking in the world isn't going to change my mind 

  about that. It's either that or rape me, and though I'm 

  still weak and sore, I'll give 'em a fight they'll never 

  forget. _But even the thought of Eric and Paul holding her 

  down and forcing her was a slightly ludicrous idea. She 

  couldn't even imagine it; she knew them far too well to 

  really think they'd do that. If she had, she wouldn't have 


                           7





  come on this trip even with Scott. But her pride had been 

  stung, hearing herself discussed like the neighborhood slut 

  in a high school locker room. _And that is what they were 

  doing. Are they that hard up for sex? Shit, Paul and Sherri 

  were a legend, thanks to her big mouth. Only couple known to 

  do it in a Fiero. Now Eric... I bet he hardly ever got any 

  from those icy types he used to take out. _Him__ I guess I 

  can understand. Shit, I fell into his arms without even 

  thinking about it. He seems like he'd be a gentle, 

  considerate lover, probably fantastic in bed. Paul, now, I 

  bet, would ask afterward, "Did you come?" And Scott, well, 

  he was as close to the perfect lover as I can imagine. Not 

  at first, he was too rough, but we learned what each other 

  liked, and wanted to please each other, so it was fun, too. 

  Some of the things we did I could never do with another man. 

  It was love, so there was no embarrassment or hesitation...

      __She stood slowly, legs starting to cramp, stretched 

  long and hard, then looked over at the camp. Paul sat alone 

  by the fire, his dark blonde hair glistening with golden 

  highlights. In the soft firelight he looked younger than his 

  twenty-six, innocent almost. _Innocent my ass. Sherri told 

  me what an inconsiderate SOB he is. Always wanting her to go 

  down on him but never returning the favor. Scott had never 

  given a woman head before me but he tried it when I asked 

  and kept doing it because I liked it so much. God, am I ever 

  going to stop thinking about him? Or is it always going to 

  hurt this bad when he comes into my mind?

      _With a deep, tired sigh she walked slowly toward the 

  flickering circle of fire, ready for bed, glancing upward 


                           8





  once when an owl cried out mournfully as it glided 

  overhead._______

  (2199)




























                           9





                    CHAPTER XI- SARCASM

 

      "You know, I've been hungry, really hungry, for so long 

  now I hardly even realize it any more," Paul told Kirstin as 

  they sat on the ledge in the sun, fishing. "Fish and nuts 

  don't really fill me up anymore. Damn, but I could go for a 

  steak."

      "Who knows, maybe Eric'll have some luck today," she 

  shrugged lazily, watching her red and white striped bobber 

  float on top of the waves. "I told him not to waste any more 

  shots on squirrels or rabbits. There isn't enough left after 

  those shells tear them apart."

      They were fishing more from sheer boredom than need. In 

  the past four days they'd caught nearly three dozen fish, 

  and it had been her idea to dry and smoke them as traveling 

  food. Several of them, eaten fresh-cooked, had been the 

  large muskie and pike they'd known were in the lake and had 

  finally managed to catch.

      "I wish we knew more about what roots and shit we could 

  eat. I know cattail roots are edible, but they taste fucking 

  horrible," Paul sighed. "What I wouldn't give for a baked 

  potato or even cauliflower with cheese sauce. And I hate 

  cauliflower, but it fills you up."

      Kirstin jerked her line, but no fish was on so she 

  reeled in and cast out again, still sitting down. "Yeah, no 

  shit. And I'm so tired of dandelion greens I could scream. 

  Even spinach would be an improvement... or at least a 

  change. But I haven't seen any. I wish we knew how to make 

  that grain you found into bread."


                           1





      Paul shrugged. "We don't even know what kind of grain 

  it is. It could be wheat, barely, oats, rye, I dunno."

      "Yeah, and I wouldn't know how to bake bread without an 

  oven anyway."

      They sat in silence for a time, the hot, hazy summer 

  day buzzing on around them somnently. Kirstin was still 

  thinking about bread; she'd been seriously craving the taste 

  of plain old sliced white bread for a while. Paul, while out 

  exploring several days before, had found a field of what 

  they'd thought was just hay until Eric had noticed the small 

  seeds stuck in his hair. They'd gone back and investigated, 

  discovering that each stalk of the tall, wavy grass was 

  topped with a heavy load of seedheads: grain of some sort. 

  Eric had eaten a handful of the small hard pellets to make 

  sure they weren't poisonous, and after two days of no 

  reaction pronounced them safe to eat. Unfortunately, none of 

  them had any idea of how to process the grain or make it 

  into bread.   

      Paul got a bite and reeled it in, adding a good-sized 

  bass to the stringer. He checked his trout fly and re-cast, 

  sitting down farther away from her with his bare feet 

  dangling in the cool water. This was the first time they'd 

  been alone since the fiasco days ago, and the uncomfortable 

  awkwardness between them was so palatable that it could 

  almost be touched, like a thick, invisible fog. He wished he 

  knew of some of way to take his words back, or at least 

  apologize. But she wasn't having any part of it, or him in 

  particular other than having to be around him with no choice 

  in the first place. 


                           2





      Then the hot, lazy afternoon was shattered by the roar 

  of gunfire, not far away, and both of them shot to their 

  feet, dropping their poles. Moments later, a rebel yell 

  drifted to their ears--"Yee-HA!"--and they grinned at each 

  other unthinkingly. "Gotta be Eric!" Paul said.

      "Well, of course," Kirstin shook her head, her clean, 

  brushed curly hair swinging as she picked up her pole, 

  reeled the line in, and set it back down. "Who else d'ya 

  think it'd be, Smokey the Bear?"

      Feeling his face heat up, Paul pulled in the stringer. 

  Her open, stinging sarcasm the past few days was damned 

  irritating, but he didn't think he should say anything in 

  return or hear worse. 

      As they approached camp, Eric burst from the bushes to 

  their right, stumbling slightly as he hadn't bothered to 

  take the path, eyes wide behind the gold glasses, face 

  flushed, and carrying the 9mm. "I got one! I got a fucking 

  deer! Come on, it's not far!" he burst out, then wheeled and 

  headed for the trail.

      Paul threw the stringer, four fish still attached but 

  now well dead, over the top of the tent so no scavengers 

  would get at them while they were gone, then followed the 

  others. Eric led them a few hundred yards into the forest, 

  to where the large body of a deer lay in a patch of low, 

  crushed undergrowth off to one side. "It's a doe," Kirstin 

  said, surprised, as they gathered around it.

      "Yeah. I was digging up those roots over there-" Eric 

  pointed to where the earth was disturbed a few feet away, 

  just off the path- "thinking they might be potatoes, when 


                           3





  she just walked out of those bushes and looked at me, then 

  started grazing as if I wasn't even here. I couldn't believe 

  it! I just sat there for a minute, thinking I was seeing 

  things, before I remembered I had the gun on me. "

      "Eric, she's probably got a fawn hidden around here 

  somewhere!" Kirstin burst out. "That's what whitetail does 

  do, hide their fawns when they go off to feed! We've got to 

  find it!"

      "Oh, get real, Kirstin!" Eric snapped, shoving the 

  pistol in his waistband.

      "Yeah, no shit," Paul agreed, staring hungrily at the 

  dead animal. He could already taste venison steaks. "If they 

  hide 'em even halfway good we'd never find it."

      "Yeah, and what would we do with it if we did?" Eric 

  added practically. "We should start walking out in at least 

  another week. We couldn't keep and raise it."

      "God, I hate to just let it die of starvation!" Kirstin 

  capulated, seeing their logic, but not easily or happily.

      "More likely a bear or wolf will get it and put it out 

  of its misery long before it starves," Eric offered, trying 

  to help.

      "Oh, that's a nice thought," she snapped back, then 

  turned away and stomped toward camp.   

      ___Paul and Eric exchanged glances, then their eyes 

  fell on the deer. "You're gonna have to drag it back," Paul 

  said apologetically. "I'd help if I could, but I don't want 

  to strain my shoulder when it's finally getting better."

      "Guess we could make a stretcher or travois out of 

  branches and a sleeping bag. That sucker must weigh two or 


                           4





  three hundred pounds- even I couldn't drag it all the way 

  back to camp."

      "I'll stay here and guard it while you go get a 

  sleeping bag. May as well start gutting it," Paul said, 

  pulling out his knife and opening it.

      They ended up having to saw off the head and legs with 

  the machete before Eric could drag the heavy load on their 

  improvised travois, which had to be redesigned several times 

  during the trip as it kept falling apart. Paul helped pull 

  with his good arm as much as he could, but both had to stop 

  and rest several times. At camp, they saw that Kirstin had 

  filleted and begun to smoke the fish they'd caught earlier, 

  but she was nowhere in sight.

      As they began skinning the doe, Paul remarked, "You 

  know, most of this meat's gonna go bad before we can eat it 

  all. There's got to be a way we can store or preserve it, 

  'cause who knows when we'll get another deer."

      Grunting with effort as he fisted the skin off the 

  carcass, Eric nodded. "Guess we could dry and smoke it like 

  the fish, make jerky. Give me a hand here."

      "Yeah... cut it in strips and smoke it over the fire," 

  Paul nodded toward the rack of tied-together branches over a 

  small, second campfire off to one side, where filleted 

  pieces of fish lay, as he went over to help Eric with the 

  skin. It took a few hours for the thin slices of fish to 

  dry, they'd discovered, and though it came out tough and 

  leathery, it didn't taste bad when chewed on long enough and 

  was kept well-preserved. "But I mean keeping it frozen, 

  roasts and steaks. Jerky'll get boring after a while and 


                           5





  we'll want fresh meat again."

      "Yeah, you're right," Eric had to agree after thinking 

  over the problem for a few seconds. "Too bad we couldn't 

  find a better way of getting rabbits and beaver and little 

  animals like that for fresh meat. But they get torn up too 

  much. I hate to waste this much meat on jerky."

      "Well, I guess we'll just have to cook as much of it as 

  we can. It'll stay good longer that way, at least." Paul 

  said as they finally pulled the deerskin off the flayed 

  carcass. "Hey, I wonder where Kirstin is."

      Eric stood upright suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he 

  gave the raw skin to Paul. "Son of a bitch, I bet she went 

  looking for that goddamned fawn!"

      "Oh, man, yeah," Paul agreed. "You want me to go 

  looking for her?"

      "Yeah, I guess you'll have to. Got to get this 

  butchered or it'll sour fast, it's a hot day. But you'll 

  have to leave me your knife- mine isn't sharp enough any 

  more."

      "Okay, I'll take yours and a spear." They made the 

  trade and then Paul went over to the tent, where two 

  roughly-made spears leaned against it. They were no more 

  than long, mostly straight branches that had been whittled 

  to a point at one end, hardened in the fire and shaped to a 

  sharper, reinforced point. "Well, at least she took hers."

      Eric just grunted, annoyed enough, rolling up the skin 

  to be washed and scraped later.

      Paul had no idea where to look for her at, but headed 

  back toward where the deer had been killed. He scared off 


                           6





  several small animals that were feasting on the pile of 

  deerguts they'd left behind, but once he'd passed, a ferret 

  went back to its free meal, joined by a couple of large 

  black crows.

      He walked on, marking his trail with broken branches, 

  hoping she'd remembered to do the same. Calling her name 

  loudly now and then, his eyes scanned the forest for any 

  sign of her. She'd been wearing an orange t-shirt and black 

  shorts; he remembered that clearly, thinking that she was 

  dressed in Halloween colors when they'd gotten up that 

  morning. She couldn't be too hard to spot in the green and 

  brown forest.

      There were vague deer trails through the thick woods 

  and he walked along them slowly, looking around thoroughly, 

  carefully. Almost before he knew it he saw a flash of gold 

  through the trees and realized that it was the Cherokee. He 

  went ahead and walked into the space they'd cleared out 

  around the truck, surprised to discover that the area felt 

  odd and unfamiliar after only a few days away.

      If she'd been here she hadn't left any sign, he decided 

  after looking around. There was a deserted air about the 

  place. It was getting late, so he decided to head back. But 

  he hadn't been walking for more than half an hour before his 

  eyes picked out a splash of bright orange among the trees 

  and brush ahead. "Kirstin?" he called, breaking into a run. 

  "Kirstin, that you?"

      She jumped, then stood up and turned, one eyebrow 

  raised quizzically. "Yeah, who else? What is it, Paul?"

      He panted up to her through the undergrowth. "Shit, I 


                           7





  been lookin' everywhere for you! Where'd you go?"

      Kirstin shrugged, swinging the three-foot-long, roughly 

  sharpened stick she carried to dig up roots with. The spear, 

  which was twice as thick as it and nearly as tall as she, 

  lay on the ground nearby. "I was wandering, looking for 

  vegetables and roots and stuff. I know how to mark my trial 

  so I won't get lost, Paul. You know that."

      He shook his head. "I didn't see one leading out from 

  camp. We weren't sure if you'd remembered to leave a trail. 

  We thought you'd gone off looking for that fawn."

      "Well, I sort of kept an eye out for it. Look what I 

  found." She pointed to a pile of leaves and roots on the 

  ground near her feet. "More wild onions and carrots, 

  dandelion greens, and those potato-like roots Eric was 

  digging up earlier. That's what I was doing when you yelled 

  and scared the shit out of me."

      He was staring at her feet, which were bare and dirty, 

  but the sexiest thing he'd ever seen in his life. Paul just 

  couldn't tear his eyes away from them, feeling his crotch 

  start to come alive. 

      "Paul? Something wrong?"

      "You- you really should wear shoes," he said harshly, 

  turning away."I'm going back to camp now."

      "Hey, wait! What the fuck?" Kirstin ran ahead of him 

  and planted herself in his path, hands on hips. "What is 

  going on with you?"

      He stared at her, his temper on the verge of snapping. 

  He had finally had enough, both from her and from Eric. Low, 

  he said, "Get out of my way, Kirstin. Leave me alone now or 


                           8





  you'll regret it."

      She stared back, seeing a new side of a person she'd 

  always though of as easygoing and somewhat wimpy. His blue 

  eyes were like steel daggers boring into her, anger mixed 

  with what she realized was naked, hungry desire. 

  Automatically she stepped aside, knowing that he meant 

  exactly what he said.

      Paul stomped past her, but slowed and turned back to 

  face her only a few feet away. The anger had drained from 

  his face, leaving only the desire he made no effort to hide. 

  "Kirstin... let me apologize. Hear me out, OK? I'm sorry for 

  what I said the other day. It wasn't what you think. I can't 

  help how my body reacts to you... it seems like it's been 

  forever since I've had a woman. I got used to Sherri always 

  being there... that's no excuse, but it's the truth. I never 

  meant any... disrespect, I guess, for you. D'ya understand?"

      Kirstin's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, I do. But it hurt, 

  Paul, can you understand that? So soon after Scott..."

      "We miss him too, y'know. He was my cousin... more'n 

  that, he was like a brother. More than Greg, Mike, or Rod 

  ever was to me." 

      "Yeah, I know that. Let's just drop it, OK? Forget it 

  ever happened?"

      He shook his head, shaggy sunstreaked dark blonde hair 

  flying around his face. "I wish I could. But it's still 

  happening. You know what I mean."

      Kirstin took a step back, frowning. "If that's the 

  case, then you're going to have to find a way to deal with 

  it, Paul. I won't be forced or badgered, or be responsible 


                           9





  for making you feel that when I don't intend to."

      Sighing, he nodded. "I guess you're right. I'll try. 

  Walk back with me?"

      "Yeah. Help me carry this stuff?"

      "Sure." They gathered up the vegetables and greens 

  she'd found, and he took off his brown t-shirt to use it to 

  carry them in. At camp, the rich smell of roasting meat drew 

  them to the campfire, where a huge chunk of venison was 

  skewered on a stick and roasting over hot coals. Fat dripped 

  from it, making the fire hiss and sizzle. Eric, washing the 

  deerskin in the lake, glanced back at them briefly and said, 

  "I see you found her."

      "Yeah, I dug up some vegetables," Kirstin called as she 

  got the large bowl from inside the tent. Paul dumped the 

  contents of his shirt in it, then threw aside the dirty tee. 

  "I got the potatoes you forgot about."

      Curious, Paul picked up one of the brown-skinned roots, 

  which were long and carrot-shaped rather than round. "You 

  taste 'em yet?"

      "No, but be careful if you're going to. They could be 

  poisonous. Take just a little bit at first."

      Paul carried the root over to the lake and washed it 

  off, then broke it in half. He sniffed the firm 

  whitish-yellow inside, and Eric paused to watch as he nipped 

  off a small piece, chewed, and swallowed. "How's it taste?"

      "Kind of blah and spicy at the same time," Paul's face 

  was thoughtful as he took another, larger, bite. Then his 

  eyes widened, and he spit out the masticated pulp. "Jesus, 

  that's hot! Almost like hot sauce!"


                           10





      Kirstin hurried over. "Like hot sauce, you said?" she 

  asked, taking half the root from him and breaking off a tiny 

  piece with one fingernail. 

      "Yeah, watch it. Didn't get hot until after I'd chewed 

  on it."

      "I think I know what it is." She sucked on the tiny 

  piece, then spit it out. "Yeah, it's horseradish."

        "Horseradish?" Paul and Eric exclaimed simultaneously.

      "Yeah, I'm pretty sure." She tossed her half of the 

  root away. "I guess we keep looking for potatoes, huh?"

      Shaking his head, Eric went back to dunking the skin 

  and rubbing it together to dislodge the clinging membranes. 

  Paul cast away his chunk of root and went to help what he 

  could with the skin. "I think she enjoyed that," he said low 

  to Eric.

      The other cast a glance over his shoulder at Kirstin, 

  who was turning the roast with a long branch. "Oh, I'm sure 

  she did."

  (2905)

      











                           11





                   CHAPTER XII- THE TRIAD

 

      They feasted on venison that night which, though 

  unseasoned, was some of the best meat they'd ever had. Even 

  Kirstin, for all her protests, ate heartily. They took turns 

  staying up that night to cook and smoke more of the venison 

  and guard it against predators and scavengers.

      Eric had the third shift and was sitting by the fire 

  with his spear beside him as the sky began to lighten. The 

  dawn was cool and silent but for the joyous singing of a few 

  birds. From within the open tent flap he could hear low 

  snoring and glanced at his watch to see if it was time to 

  wake Kirstin yet, but he had another hour and a half to go. 

  As the light gradually strengthened, he saw that the sky was 

  overcast and hoped it wouldn't rain before they finished 

  with the meat.

      Too bad we couldn't finish smoking it inside the tent, 

  but then we couldn't be inside the tent with the smokehole 

  closed... inside the tent? Shit, a smokehouse! We wouldn't 

  have to build it to last, since we'll be leaving soon, but 

  it'll work for now. We can smoke enough meat for our walk 

  out of here in half the time that way!

      He was so excited that he woke both the others, who 

  grumbled and complained until they were sufficiently awake 

  to comprehend what he was talking about. Then they, too, saw 

  the possibilities. "But we should build it back at the 

  truck," Paul suggested. "That's where we'll be staying until 

  we leave for good, right?"

      "Yeah, right," Eric agreed. "Let's get started, and 


                           1





  then we'll all be able to sleep tonight."

      They reassembled the simple travois, using it to carry 

  their belongings and all the meat. There was still plenty 

  left to be cooked or smoked, so they skipped breakfast and 

  started back as soon as they were ready.

      As they came out of the trees and into the clearing 

  they'd made where the truck sat, Kirstin stopped dead in her 

  tracks. "Oh, shit."

      "What?" Eric asked unthinkingly, annoyed, his arms 

  hurting from pulling the travois. then it hit him: Scott. He 

  realized that he'd been so busy the last few days that he'd 

  barely thought about his late friend, and guilt washed over 

  him like a warm seawave. "Er... sorry, Kirstin. But we 

  shouldn't be staying more than a week bef-"

      She gave him an odd sideways look. "What are you 

  talking about? Look, some animal's been here and tore the 

  place up."

      Paul pulled his knife out and moved forward carefully, 

  silently. Kirstin rolled her eyes, knowing that any animals 

  had heard them long ago and were long gone, but she and Eric 

  stayed back, letting him play Rambo. When he waved them on, 

  Eric picked up the travois and muttered to her, "Glad to 

  know we're safe and well-defended."

      She snorted laughter and followed him. They examined 

  the site and soon determined that at least one, if not more, 

  wolves had been the culprits. There were muddy pawprints 

  inside the Cherokee, where the animals had gotten in through 

  the open tailgate, and doglike tracks in the muck around the 

  small pool under the waterfall. There hadn't been any food 


                           2





  left behind, but two of their garbage burial sites had been 

  dug up and scattered. The lynx fur, which had been forgotten 

  in the rear compartment of the truck, had been chewed and 

  little was left of it but tufts of fur. And the laundry that 

  they'd left to dry on the roof and hood of the Cherokee had 

  been dragged down, but only one pair of jeans had been 

  partially chewed and were ruined. Paul found bits of cloth 

  and rubber in the truck and was furious when he realized 

  that it was what was left of his brand-new British Knights 

  tennis shoes, which he'd left behind since he'd worn hiking 

  boots out to the lake. 

      Kirstin and Eric set up the tent as Paul kindled a new 

  fire in the blackened pit, still grumbling about the loss of 

  his shoes. They ignored him, but Kirstin was irritated- she 

  had lost the lynx fur and the pair of jeans, which'd had the 

  crotch gnawed out of them.

      When the tent was up, Eric took the machete and headed 

  into the forest to start cutting trees for the smokehouse. 

  After about half an hour of hacking away at an alder sapling 

  with the machete he was hot, sweaty, tired, and very 

  annoyed. They needed an axe or a chainsaw for this kind of 

  work. The machete was getting dull and it was going to take 

  all day just to get one tree down, and that wasn't enough 

  for one wall.

      Kirstin had headed off into the forest to forage for 

  dinner, so Paul unpacked the travois and set the meat in the 

  truck for now, making sure all the doors and windows were 

  secure in case more unwelcome visitors came around when they 

  were all out of camp. When Eric came stomping back, swinging 


                           3





  the machete angrily, he had skewered a hunk of venison and 

  was setting it on the metal posts from the Coleman stove 

  over the fire. "What's up? Where's the wood?"

      "We're not going to be able to do it," Eric scowled. 

  "This fucker's no good for chopping down trees. We need an 

  axe for that." He tossed the machete near the tent, grabbed 

  up the bucket and disappeared down the trail toward the 

  stream. Once there he got a drink, then dunked his whole 

  head in the pool to cool both his body and temper. It 

  figures I'd come up with a good idea then be stymied by 

  something as obvious as not having an axe or chainsaw to cut 

  down trees with. There's got to be another way. Shaking his 

  head to clear it of water, Eric sat down crosslegged by the 

  pool with the bucket beside him, picking at blades of grass 

  and thinking. He was so deep in thought that it took a while 

  for him to realize that it was raining; at first he thought 

  it was just his wet hair dripping until he realized that 

  there were drops on his bare arms. "Son of a bitch!" he 

  swore out loud, looking up and getting rainwater in his eyes 

  as it came down harder. Blinking, he got to his feet, 

  grabbed the bucket, and hurried back to camp. As he 

  approached and saw what Paul was up to, though, he stopped 

  and stared, then grinned.

      He's set up their spare piece of tarpulin--which Eric 

  had forgotten they had--on four branches over the fire, 

  protecting it and the meat cooking on it. "Good fucking 

  idea," he said admiringly as he walked over and set the 

  bucket beneath the tarp, too. Paul flushed and shrugged, 

  digging through a rucksack. "Only one problem, though. We're 


                           4





  going to have to prop it up in the middle or the rain'll 

  build up and collapse it."

      Paul looked over, then nodded. "I see what you mean. 

  It'll have to be a metal support, though, 'cause it'll have 

  to go in the middle of the fire." He found the roll of 

  aluminum foil that he'd been hunting for and pulled it out, 

  then proceeded to wrap up a section of deer ribs in it and 

  set the packet in the fire.

      Eric was holding the crowbar from the truck and glanced 

  over at the fire, realizing that it wasn't long enough, when 

  he saw the roll of foil and an idea blossomed. "Paul! Let's 

  cut another branch just a little longer than the others- I 

  know how to make this work!"

      The middle support was a green branch wrapped in 

  several layers of foil where it was in the fire, and though 

  Eric supposed it would eventually dry out and burn, for now 

  it worked and that was good enough. The light raindrops 

  began to come down harder and they went into the tent and 

  were spreading out the sleeping bags when Paul paused and 

  cocked his head. "Did you hear that?"

      "No, what?" All Eric could hear was rain pattering down 

  on the canvas tent over their heads.

      "I dunno. Something familiar." Paul leaned over and 

  smoothed down a corner of Kirstin's sleeping bag, then it 

  hit him like a brick. "Fuck, Eric, where's Kirstin?"

      "Holy shit!" They both went for the tent entrance and 

  collided, then Paul darted through first and stood in the 

  rain with one hand held over his eyes like a sunshade. Eric 

  took his glasses off and hooked them in the collar of his 


                           5





  t-shirt as rain streamed down his face. "Did you see which 

  way she went?"

      "No, I was gettin' meat out of the truck. Let's split 

  up and look for her trail markers." Just then they heard a 

  faint voice. "That's her! That's what I heard! Which way'd 

  it come from?"

      "KIRSTIN! DON'T MOVE! YELL AGAIN, WE HEAR YOU!" Eric 

  bellowed, making Paul cringe and put both hands over his 

  ears. "WE'RE COMING!"

      "Eric?" Came faintly from their right.

      "YEAH! WE'RE ON THE WAY!"

      "Jesus Christ but you've got a big mouth," Paul 

  grumbled, taking his hands away from his ringing ears. 

      "Learned that as a sergeant," Eric shrugged as he 

  picked up the machete from where Paul had propped it against 

  the tent and they headed into the woods. "Better cover your 

  ears again."

      With a lot of screaming back and forth, they eventually 

  found Kirstin, who was standing beneath a fully-leafed maple 

  tree about half a mile from camp. She was drier than they, 

  so they joined her beneath it. "Boy am I glad to see you 

  guys," she said with obvious relief. "Once it started 

  raining hard I couldn't find my trail back. It's lucky I was 

  close enough that you could hear me."

      "We almost didn't." Paul said, crossing his arms and 

  shivering. "I though I heard something, but it was when I 

  set out your sleeping bag that we realized you were missing. 

  Why didn't you come back when it started raining?"

      "I started to, but I wasn't as fast as the rain."


                           6





      Eric could tell that she was getting annoyed by Paul's 

  attitude and decided to change the subject. "Find anything 

  to eat?"

      "Nothing new, but I got some berries and greens." She 

  pointed to the Tupperware bowl nearby. "Speaking of food, 

  I'm starving. Let's head back and dry out."

      The rain slacked off as they walked back and was down 

  to a light drizzle by the time they returned to camp. 

  Kirstin was duly impressed by their fire shelter, but so 

  hungry that she cut a piece from the half-cooked roast and 

  took a third of the berries, going to sit in the tent and 

  eat. The others also cut cooked pieces off the roast and 

  joined her. As she was picking the last few berries out of 

  the bowl Kirstin began to feel uneasy, and glanced around. 

  Eric, sitting near the front of the tent, appeared to be 

  absorbed in digging bits of deermeat out of his teeth and 

  staring out at the rain through the open tentflap. Paul, 

  sitting in the back of the tent, had finished eating too. He 

  quickly looked away, and she knew he'd been staring at her 

  braless chest. "Cut it out, Paul, you're giving me the 

  creepy-crawlies staring at me like that."

      "Well, then, go put on a fucking bra or something," he 

  snapped back. The rain began to fall harder and thunked on 

  the top of the tent.

      "I would if I could, but I only brought one and I have 

  no idea whatsoever where it is! I'm not doing this on 

  purpose, man, I'm cold!"

      Eric reached over and rooted around in the pile of 

  dirty clothes by the flap, tossing her blue sweatjacket to 


                           7





  her. "Put this on. You're bothering me too."

      Kirstin stared over at him, then back at Paul. Yanking 

  the jacket on, she said bitterly, "You guys wouldn't be 

  saying things like this if Scott was here."

      "No, because if Scott was here he'd've made you cover 

  up sooner!" Paul said angrily. "You say you're not teasin' 

  us, but you sit around in a tight, wet t-shirt and don't 

  think we're gonna notice?"

      That stung, because she really hadn't thought about it 

  and realized that she should have. Feeling her lip quiver, 

  she said, "I'm sorry. I... I didn't think..." She tried to 

  hold the tears back, but they came anyway and, both 

  embarrassed and hurt, she turned toward the tent wall and 

  huddled with her hands over her face, shaking with silent 

  sobs.

      Eric and Paul looked at each other, both feeling like 

  total shits. "Kirstin... I didn't mean to hurt your 

  feelings," Paul said hesitantly. 

      "Lemme alone," came her muffled voice, but her 

  shoulders still shook.

      Eric crawled across the tent on hands and knees and sat 

  next to her, putting an arm around her waist and pulling her 

  to lean against him. Paul came over too, cautiously putting 

  a hand on her shoulder. She jerked away from his touch, but 

  he gently grasped her upper arm and tugged until she turned 

  to glare at him, her face wet, lashes sparkling with 

  moisture. "What?"

      Paul leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth without 

  thinking about it at all. Eric, not seeing this as he was 


                           8





  looking out the undone tent flap at the rain, just held her, 

  thinking that the comfort of his being there would be 

  enough. Kirstin started to pull away when Paul kissed her, 

  but his hands cupped her head and the heat of his moist lips 

  on hers wasn't unpleasant, but she felt the difference 

  between his kiss and Eric's right away. She not only 

  accepted, but returned his kiss. Eric turned, saw them, and 

  started to pull his arm out from around her, but without 

  moving her face away from Paul's, Kirstin held him there 

  with one hand on his thigh and the other reaching up to cup 

  the side of his face. Eric froze, unsure of what was going 

  on but getting an idea.

      Kirstin broke the kiss and took a deep breath, looking 

  Paul in the eye, then turned to meet Eric's confused gaze. 

  She leaned forward and kissed him, feeling his mouth heat up 

  under hers, then a hand--Paul's--gently cup one of her 

  breasts and toy with the nipple. She moaned, then heard 

  Paul's low voice, "Kirstin, I can't... be teased... like 

  this. You're gonna hafta choose."

      With her lips still touching Eric's, she murmured, 

  "Why? There's no one else here. We can do what we want." 

  Liquid fire ran through her as she realized that she could 

  have both of them, just this once, and no one would ever 

  know. "Don't talk."

      "I have to. I'm... no fag."

      Kirstin chuckled, then broke away from Eric, who was 

  grinning, and turned to face him. "I never said or thought 

  you were! Don't ruin this, Paul." She leaned away from Eric 

  to kiss him, moving one hand to his shoulder. "Just go with 


                           9





  it, or if you can't, leave."

      "Are you... all right?" Eric had to ask, though he was 

  about insane with desire at the thought of having her.

      "Yeah, I'm fine." Both men understood her unspoken 

  meaning and Paul, relieved that he wouldn't have to touch 

  Eric--he hadn't been sure of what she was up to--curled his 

  hand around her neck and pulled her face tighter against 

  his, his tongue moving on her lips. 

      Kirstin felt Eric's hand move from her leg to the 

  inside of her thigh and let herself be swept away, casting 

  off all inhibitions, wanting this like she'd never wanted 

  anything in her life. With one hand on Paul's shoulder and 

  the other on Eric's thigh she fell back, pulling them down 

  with her. 

      "Kirstin... can I..."

      "Yeah, take 'em off."

      "Mmph... here, like this..."

      "Wow."

      "I was hoping you'd be impressed."

      "Doubly impressed."

      "Eric... yeah, c'mere, I can't wait."

      "Do you want me to..."

        "No, don't leave, Paul. Don't stop kissing me. Eric..?"

      "If you don't mind, Kirstin..?"

      "Yeah, all right. Paul?"

      "Uh..."

      "Oh, come on! What're you, shy? Not here and now!"

      "It's not like I've never seen your bare ass before."

      "Get back, fag!"


                           10





      "Would you two cut it out? I'm laughing instead of... 

  mmn, not any more."

      "You really want me to go first?"

      "Yes, Paul. Take them off."

      "Yeah, all right. Kirstin..."

      "Mmn..."

      "Oh, god."

      "Don't stop. Eric..."

      "Christ, this is unreal."

      "Aah, it's real all right... yeah, that's it... Paul, 

  oh, that's good..."

      "Ohhhhh... shit."

        "Don't worry about it, we've got all night... Eric..?"

      "Yeah. Here."

      "Well, then, c'mere!"

      "There."

        "Oh, yeah! That's... that's great... no, don't stop..."

      "Couldn't if I wanted to..."

      "Paul? Paul, kiss... kiss me, I'm gonna-"

      "Eric..?"

      "Go... ahead."

      "Oh, jesus!"

      "Kirstin? You all right?"

      "Aah... I've never been better."







                           11





                 CHAPTER XIII- DISCOVERIES

 

      Kirstin lay awake, warm and snuggled between the two 

  men, smiling, and thinking. Paul was sound asleep, snoring 

  slightly, his breathing deep and regular, to her left. Eric 

  she wasn't so sure about, but didn't speak, enjoying this 

  quiet, satisfied afterward. Though they had both been 

  carefully gentle with her, she could feel the soreness down 

  there, but it was a good soreness. And any woman would have 

  been sore after the last few hours. Then a whisper came: 

  "Kirstin? You still awake?"

      She rolled over and curled up to Eric, feeling Paul 

  move up behind her and throw an arm over her bare waist. 

  "Yeah. You too?"

      Eric's arm curled around her shoulder and pulled her to 

  lay her head on his chest. She put one knee between his and 

  rested her hand on his flat, tight belly. "Mmn-hmm. How do 

  you feel?"

      She grinned up at him, his face just barely visible in 

  the pale dawnlight that came through the open tent flap. 

  "Great. A little sore, but great. You?"

      He strained to kiss her and she met him halfway, then 

  they both laid back and relaxed. Paul shifted again, curling 

  around her back. One of his hands dangled against Eric's 

  side, tickling him, and he brushed it away. "I feel pretty 

  fine. I have to tell you... that's the first time I've had 

  sex since I got out of the army."

      "No shit?" Kirstin looked up at him, surprised. "Why? 

  Some of those girls you used to go out with were really 


                           1





  pretty."

      "Let's just say I was... betrayed... by a girl in South 

  Carolina."    "Hmmn. Well, at least you'll never have to 

  wonder if I'm screwing Paul behind your back, 'cause I'm 

  doing it in front of you. Right in front of you."

      Eric laughed, which was what she'd intended. "Yeah, and 

  vice versa. But she didn't betray me with another man... she 

  betrayed my trust. One reason I wanted you was because I 

  know I can trust you."

      Kirstin was touched. "Thank you, Eric, that means the 

  world to me. Same here, now that I think about it." She 

  kissed his shoulder, tasting the salt of sweat. "But what 

  about him?"

      "What do you mean?" "Well, it didn't bother either of 

  us, the three of us having sex, but it seemed to bother 

  Paul. He was really uncomfortable for a while there."

      "Oh. Okay, I know what you mean. I think he was just 

  worried that me and him might... well, you know."

      "Yeah, I do." Kirstin fought a grin, which she knew 

  he'd feel against his shoulder. "But even after that 

  question was over, he still seemed... hesitant."

      "I was too, at first." Eric paused, trying to think of 

  how to tell her what he'd felt. "This isn't something I've 

  ever even thought about."

      "Do you mean me, or the three of us?"

      "Well, I've fantasized about you--I told you that 

  before--and about having two or three women on me, but not 

  me and another guy and one woman."

      "I have. Fantasized about two guys, I mean. Maybe 


                           2





  that's why I had no problem going into it like you two did."

      He craned his neck to look down into her upturned face. 

  "Kirstin, did you plan this?"

        "Eric, get real! It just happened, and I acted on it!"

      "Ssh, you're going to wake Paul. I had to ask." She 

  shifted, moving away from him, irritated. But Eric pulled 

  her back and got up on one elbow, looming over her. She 

  rolled onto her back and Paul moved too, muttering in his 

  sleep. He turned over on his side with his back to them and 

  his breathing evened out again. "Don't get pissed."

      She glared up at him, then sighed and relaxed. "I was a 

  little uncomfortable too, you know. I never thought it would 

  actually happen."

      Eric felt himself getting hard just from thinking about 

  the past few hours and knew she felt it too by the look that 

  came over her face. "Just how sore are you? I've got a lot 

  of years to make up for, and it's not because you're the 

  only woman here. I want you, Kirstin." He stroked her 

  belly, then his hand moved lower, finding moisture.

      "Not that sore." She shivered, but not with cold. 

  "Let's try not to wake sleeping beauty there."

      "I'm already awake," Paul mumbled. "You two talk too 

  much."

      "Well, we're done talking, so either shut up or join 

  in."



      Eric woke first, to blinding sunlight and chirping 

  birds. He was curled around Kirstin, who had her back 

  against his front, and she was curled around Paul the same 


                           3





  way. Mostly asleep, he thought, spoons in a drawer. That's 

  what we must look like, spoons in a drawer. He rolled onto 

  his back and stretched, then looked at his watch, which he 

  still wore. Quarter after two. He sat up and it was then 

  that the events of the night and early morning came back to 

  him, and he looked over at Paul and Kirstin with an almost 

  surprised look on his face. We really did all that, it 

  wasn't just a dream. Scott, if by chance you're watching 

  from wherever you are, know I was thinking about you and 

  even as good as she makes me feel, I'd give it up in a 

  heartbeat if it would bring you back. But since it won't, I 

  hope you know I really care about her and I'm not just using 

  her as a piece of ass. Though that's great too.

      Grinning at his unusual thoughts, Eric got up quietly 

  without waking the others and grabbed a pair of denim shorts 

  from the pile by the flap as he went out. But the grin 

  disappeared as he stood up outside the tent and saw the 

  cold, scattered ashes of the fire, grey pawprints all around 

  the camp, the shelter knocked askew, and the meat gone. He 

  started to curse out loud, but glanced back at the tent and 

  pressed his lips together. Pulling on the shorts and 

  squinting without his glasses, he went over and kicked 

  around in the ashes, finding not the least spark. Must've 

  been those wolves again. We gave them another free meal. 

  Shit, where's the rest of the meat? Fuck, if that's gone I'm 

  going to be really pissed.

      He started a new fire in the ashes and then crawled 

  back into the tent. "Paul? Paul, wake up. What'd you do with 

  the rest of the deermeat yesterday?"


                           4





      "Hmmn?" he mumbled, rolling over on his back and waking 

  up Kirstin, who opened her eyes and grumbled something 

  unintelligible as she sat up. "What?"

      "The meat, what'd you do with it? Wolves got what we 

  had on the fire."

      "What?" That woke him up fully. "Wolves? Shit, we 

  forgot all about it."

      "Yeah, no shit," Kirstin agreed, yawning, then grinned 

  at Eric almost ruefully.

      Paul sat up too, shaking his head. He glanced over at 

  Kirstin, who was sitting bare naked, legs crossed, and 

  smiling at both him and Eric. "Oh, holy shit, we really..."

      "Yeah, we really," Eric had to grin, too, remembering 

  his reaction on first waking up. "Now, where'd you put the 

  rest of the meat? We've got to have food, too."

      Kirstin caught his unspoken meaning and chuckled, then 

  crawled to the front of the tent and disappeared outside. 

  Both men watched her go, then Paul shook his head again. 

  "Oh, man, what a night."

      "Man, come back to reality. For the last time, where'd 

  you put that meat?"

      "In the truck, and I rolled up the windows and closed 

  the doors. Unless those wolves grew hands, they didn't get 

  it."

      "Good. I was afraid you'd put it up in a tree or 

  something like we did at the lake. You can go back to sleep 

  now."

      "Yeah, right! God, Eric, how can you face her this 

  morning? I feel like a total shit- we shared her."


                           5





      "Because she wanted us to, Paul. You'd better not let 

  her hear you saying that. Deal with it, and maybe you better 

  start thinking about tonight too, so you can deal with that. 

  And all the nights to come until we're rescued."

      "And what about after that?"

      Eric frowned, hunting around for his glasses and 

  finding them still hooked to the t-shirt he'd worn 

  yesterday. "I'm no psychic. We'll just have to take it as it 

  comes."

      Kirstin went a short way into the bushes and relieved 

  herself, not surprised to find a little blood on the toilet 

  paper after she wiped, wincing a little at the soreness, but 

  it wasn't even enough to pull out a pad for. It felt odd to 

  be walking around in the woods with no clothes on, and she 

  decided to go get dressed even though it really wasn't 

  necessary any more. Back at camp, she ducked into the tent, 

  setting the roll of toilet paper at the front where they'd 

  all be able to find it again. Offhandedly she thought it was 

  a good thing she'd brought a four-roll pack of Charmin, and 

  hoped it would last until they walked out, as she wasn't 

  thrilled by the thought of using leaves to wipe with though 

  she had before, on other camping trips. She found a clean 

  pair of blue jogging shorts and her aqua tank top in her 

  backpack, and as she settled the shirt over her belly, 

  glanced down and saw her hard nipples poking out. Well, now 

  at least I don't have to worry that they'll say I'm teasing 

  them! She walked out of the tent smiling, and Paul, who was 

  putting the pot in the fire to make coffee, looked up and 

  saw her. He quickly averted his eyes, and Kirstin wondered 


                           6





  what was up with him, but she felt so good this morning that 

  she was determined nothing was going to ruin her day. 

      The tailgate of the Cherokee was down and Eric was 

  inside the cargo area. Curious, Kirstin walked over and sat 

  on the tailgate, asking, "What're you doing?"    "Paul had 

  enough good sense to put the meat in here, so the wolves 

  didn't get it, but I don't know if it's still okay." He 

  handed her a rack of ribs to smell. "What do you think?" 

  "Well, there's no smell at all, so it's starting to sour, 

  but it's not gone over yet," she said. "Let's cook and dry 

  what we can today. It'll be bad by tomorrow."

      "We probably won't be able to do it all," Eric sighed, 

  hating to see all this meat gone to waste. There was at 

  least half the deer left. 

      "Doesn't look like it'll rain again, so let's build 

  three or four fires and make wooden racks to go over them," 

  she suggested. "We might be able to get it all cooked."

      Eric nodded as he backed out of the cargo area and 

  Kirstin jumped off the tailgate. She started to walk away, 

  then glanced back, seeing him staring into the truck with a 

  thoughtful frown. "Eric?"

      "Kirstin... where's the gas tank on this thing, do you 

  know?"

      "Uh-uh. Scott hid the dope under it. Why?"  "Well, it 

  should be fairly airtight... why couldn't we build a fire in 

  the cargo area and smoke the meat right inside the truck? If 

  we can get all the gas out of it, it shouldn't be 

  dangerous."

      "God, I don't know about that, Eric. You'll probably 


                           7





  set the truck on fire."

      "No, we can take the plastic bed liner out and then 

  it's bare metal. I'm going to look and see if we can get the 

  gas tank off without a torch kit."

      Paul had heard them talking and now came over, crawling 

  under the truck with Eric. Kirstin walked away, not liking 

  the idea, and got the plastic mugs and jar of instant 

  coffee, which only had enough left in it for this morning's 

  cups. She walked around and cleaned up while waiting for the 

  water to boil, picking up bits of aluminum foil from where 

  the wolves had shredded it to get to the meat inside. Paul 

  and Eric crawled out from beneath the truck, brushing leaves 

  and dirt off, and came over to the fire. "We're in luck. The 

  truck must've bounced off at least five or six boulders 

  because half the stuff is missing from under there- muffler, 

  gas lines, tranny, and the gas tank's hanging. We should be 

  able to get it off pretty easy."

      Paul held up the large gallon Baggie of dope. "But this 

  was still there! I thought it'd be gone! Anybody got 

  papers?"

      Kirstin laughed and shook her head. "Yeah, I always 

  keep rolling papers handy when I'm stranded out in the 

  middle of the wilderness."

      "Grab a can and make a pipe," Eric suggested, grinning. 

  "I could use a toke or two."

      She made the coffee while they made a rough, but 

  workable, pipe out of a Coke can. They sat around the 

  campfire, smoking and drinking, relaxing for a time until 

  the bowl was full of ash. Kirstin had a pleasant buzz and 


                           8





  didn't want to get up, but Eric asked her to pull out the 

  plastic bed liner while he and Paul tore out the gas tank 

  and what lines remained beneath the truck. She had a hard 

  time getting it out and ended up having Paul help her, but 

  before dark, the truck was as ready as it would ever be.

      Eric started the fire, laying hunks of flat rock down 

  on the bare metal to base it on, and they set the meat up on 

  low racks made of branches tied with rope. They sealed the 

  windows and closed the doors, watching nervously as the 

  truck filled up with smoke. Kirstin stood at the edge of the 

  clearing nearest to the stream, tin pot in hand, ready to 

  run for more water if any flames showed, though both the red 

  plastic bucket and large tin spaghetti pot were full and 

  nearby. As darkness fell they could see the low glow of 

  coals through the dense smoke, and every hour or so during 

  the night one of them opened the tailgate, waited for the 

  smoke to dissipate, and added more green wood to the fire.

      They flipped a quarter for first watch at midnight and 

  Paul was disgruntled to lose and have to stand it. What he 

  didn't know was that Kirstin and Eric whispered together in 

  the tent before the noises started. Paul sat on the other 

  side of the campfire from the tent, near the truck's 

  tailgate, smelling the woodsmoke from the fire inside it and 

  listening to the sounds of them making love, which was loud 

  enough that he couldn't help but hear. Though he got excited 

  and hard, he didn't do anything about it, having discovered 

  in the past twenty-four hours that there were more exciting 

  things than masturbation or even his girlfriend.

      At four o'clock he went in the tent to wake Eric, 


                           9





  carrying the flashlight with a shirt over the lens to dampen 

  the brightness, but stopped just inside the flap and stared, 

  feeling frustration rise in his throat. Eric and Kirstin had 

  fallen asleep not only naked, but still twined together, her 

  on top, him sprawled beneath. Paul hesitated, but he wasn't 

  staying up all night. He leaned over and shook Eric's bare 

  foot, then harder, until he shifted and mumbled. "Eric, it's 

  your watch," Paul said coldly, then turned and left the 

  tent. He wasn't sleeping in there. 

      Eric came out a few minutes later wearing jeans and 

  pulling on a green military shirt. "Okay, I'm up. Go ahead."

      "I think I'll get my bag and sleep out here," Paul 

  said, getting up and going toward the flap. "Too stuffy in 

  there."

      "Whatever, man," Eric said, buttoning the shirt and 

  hiding a grin.

      Paul crawled in the tent silently, thinking Kirstin 

  would be asleep, but she wasn't. She was sitting up on the 

  three sleeping bags, which had been folded into one wide 

  mat, naked, smiling at him. "What took you so long?" she 

  asked, and he had no answer, just stopped, on his hands and 

  knees, staring at her. One lantern was lit and bathed her 

  skin in a soft amber-gold. With her mass of dark shaggy hair 

  framing her face and those expressive green-gray eyes, she 

  resembled a wood nymph; shy, wild, and provocative all at 

  the same time. "Tonight it's just you and me, Paul. Just 

  like it was me and Eric earlier. Remember, it's whatever we 

  want, not what society says. I want to get to know you."

      Hesitant no longer, assured that she actually wanted to 


                           10





  sleep with him and not just both of them for the thrill of 

  having two men on her, he moved forward and shed his 

  inhibitions with his clothes.



       They managed to smoke all of the meat by the next 

  morning, and stored it with the dried fish in one of the 

  rucksacks, locked in the truck against their canine 

  nocturnal visitors. The wolves were getting to be a real 

  problem though none of them had actually ever seen one. 

  Several times they were awakened by the wolves' howling in 

  the middle of the night, and by their scavenging around the 

  campsite, but they disappeared like smoke when someone 

  stirred in the tent. 

      For three nights in a row Eric stayed up, sitting just 

  inside the tent with the flap ajar, pistol in hand, waiting 

  for them, but the wolves seemed to sense that something was 

  up and stayed away. The next night, when Eric slept, they 

  came and woke them up, sniffing around camp, but were gone 

  by the time he got up with the gun.

      Paul had discovered that his arm was all but healed 

  during lovemaking with Kirstin and now used it as much as he 

  could to work the stiffness out. Eric stepped up 

  preparations to start walking out- by his estimate it was 

  the second week of August and time was running out. He knew 

  winter came earlier this far north, but not how much 

  earlier.

  (2984)

      



                           11





                CHAPTER XIV- TRAVELING AGAIN

                              

     "Aren't you ready yet?"

      Kirstin blew loose hair out of her eyes and turned to 

  glare at Eric. "You know if you keep rushing me I'll forget 

  something."

      Paul stood near the front of the truck, feeling an 

  uneasy sense of deja vu. Hadn't Scott and Kirstin had the 

  same conversation on the day they'd left on the trip? It was 

  weird.

      "Well, there isn't much to forget. We've got just about 

  everything but the truck itself." Eric stood ready near the 

  tailgate, waiting impatiently, shifting from foot to foot.

      "And the kitchen sink," Paul added helpfully, but 

  neither of the others found him amusing. 

      Ignoring the remark, Kirstin yanked tight the buckles 

  on her backpack and hefted it. "Give me a hand here."

      Eric obliged her, holding it so she could slip her arms 

  through the red nylon straps. "All set? Finally?"

      "Yeah, finally." She paused, though, and looked around 

  the clearing. The truck sat silent, mute, streaked with mud, 

  smoke, and grime, obviously seriously damaged, but one of 

  the last remnants of the real world they had and were 

  leaving behind. Inside it were the Coleman cooler and stove, 

  which were too large and bulky to carry out. Where they'd 

  cleared land with the machete on their first day looked 

  barren and used, the ground flattened where they'd had the 

  tent set up, the blackened firepit dead and full of grey 

  ashes. "You know, this almost began to seem like home."


                           1





      "I know. But we've got to get out of here before winter 

  comes or we're as good as dead," Eric pointed out. 

      "We'll never see this place again," Paul stated as he 

  turned away. "And I had some of the best and worst times of 

  my life here."

      "Yeah," Kirstin said softly, glancing at the cargo bed 

  where Scott had died as she, too, turned and walked away. 

  "Best and worst."

      Eric echoed the statement, and then they left.



      That night they camped on the side of a mountain, on a 

  fairly level, grassy area about five hundred feet above the 

  valleys below. Kirstin was uneasy about sleeping so high up 

  when a roll of three feet one way or the other could drop 

  her to her death, but Eric assured her that the tent would 

  hold all three of them in.

      On the way up Paul had used his net to catch several 

  fat grouse, and with dismay saw that some of their feathers 

  were already beginning to turn white as he plucked them by 

  the fire that evening. "Look at this," he showed the others. 

  "Winter can't come this early, even up here."

      Kirstin frowned. "It could start getting cold soon. 

  We're going to have to pay attention."

      "And what then?" Eric said as he lit the fire with 

  Paul's Bic, which had a surprising lot of fluid left. "We 

  could die, people, you don't seem to realize that. Just 

  exposure could kill us."

      "Oh, I realize that," Kirstin snapped back, angered by 

  his know-it-all attitude. "I was thinking that we should 


                           2





  start looking for a cave once we see frost on the ground in 

  the mornings if we haven't made it out by then. Better'n 

  waking up frozen one morning."

      "Yeah, she's right," Paul agreed, plucking the feathers 

  into a paper sack already half-full from the other birds 

  they'd killed. He hadn't yet figured out how to make them 

  into a pillow, but he wasn't about to leave them behind. "At 

  least in a cave we'd stay warm and dry."

      "We'll be out long before that," Eric assured them 

  breezily, adding branches to the fire. "We head south long 

  enough we'll come to some kind of civilization, even if 

  there's a war on."

      Kirstin and Paul exchanged glances--they'd discussed 

  this many times alone--but didn't argue, instead going about 

  their tasks. He plucked and gutted the birds, she seasoned 

  and dressed them, then skewered them on the metal rod and 

  set them over the coals. While waiting for them to cook, 

  turning them occasionally, they set up the tent, then Eric 

  and Kirstin went to get water from the stream, which was 

  about ten feet away from their temporary campsite. Paul 

  didn't follow or go after them when they'd been gone half an 

  hour- he knew what was up, and he didn't mind, because 

  another time it would be him and her. Besides, they were 

  probably making up after Eric had annoyed her earlier, and 

  making up was the best part of an argument.

      By the time they wandered back, with disheveled hair 

  and eyes at half mast, the birds were cooked and on paper 

  plates, ready to eat. "Looks like you two got more than 

  water," Paul teased, setting out the plates. 


                           3





      "Oh yeah," Eric grinned, then yelped as Kirstin kicked 

  him in the shin. 

      "Don't look so satisfied," she scolded. 

      "Why not? I am, and so are you, or at least you'd 

  better be," he rejoined, setting the metal pot down near the 

  fire. "Or you're the world's best actress."

       She couldn't help but grin too. For all the danger 

  they lived with, almost unconsciously now, they still had 

  fun in more ways than one. "No, I'm not that good," she 

  admitted, sitting down crosslegged near the fire and taking 

  the plate Paul handed over. "Thanks."

      He passed out cups of water next, then sat down beside 

  her. "So how far do you think we came today?" he asked as 

  Eric sat on her other side. It had gotten to be a habit, 

  Kirstin in the middle. 

      "I don't know. Eight, maybe ten miles, tops. Going up 

  and down mountains seems to take longer than it really does, 

  and we crossed two small ones today."

      Kirstin sighed as she tore a small wing off her bird. 

  "How long do you think it'll take us, Eric?"

      "Well, going by the map, I'd guess we're about a 

  hundred, maybe less, miles from Fort Liard. Figure on ten 

  miles a day, average, plus time for going off course--we 

  could miss it completely and have to wander around until we 

  find a road--say three weeks, maybe four."

      "That's not bad," Paul said through a mouthful of 

  greasy meat. "I thought maybe two months to walk out."

      "What're we going to do once we get back?" Kirstin 

  asked, looking at each of them in turn. "I mean, can we go 


                           4





  on this way? Or is it just over?"

      Eric shrugged, but he looked uncomfortable. "I don't 

  know, Kirstin. Like you've said, we're outside the rules of 

  society here. A three-way, or triad, relationship wouldn't 

  be looked upon kindly in civilization."

      "Triad? Is that what you call us?"

      "Yeah, I guess so. Or menage a trois, to use French. 

  Either way, I can't answer that."

      "I can tell you what I want, though." Paul said, 

  looking down at his half-stripped bird. "I don't want it to 

  end, but on the other hand, I'd hate having to hide what we 

  are, what we do. Can either of you deny that this works for 

  us?"

      "No, you're right there," Kirstin, too, kept her eyes 

  down. Doing it and talking openly about it were two 

  different things, she was discovering. "I wouldn't want to 

  hide it either, but we'd have to. Our families, and other 

  people, would think we were insane."

      "Yeah, just the lack of jealousy would make them think 

  that," Paul agreed.

      Eric nodded. "No one would understand."

      They were silent for a time, thinking as they ate. 

  Well, we won't be able to just forget about what we did out 

  here, Paul mused. I know I couldn't, and never will. Whether 

  it's just me and Kirstin or all three of us, what we have is 

  special and unusual. How can anyone else understand what a 

  turn-on it is to watch your buddy make love to the girl you 

  just have, or will afterward? Or to have him watch you? Or 

  to both make love to her and turn it into a competition, see 


                           5





  who can get her off the wildest? And she likes it too, no 

  matter what way or with whom. I thought Scott was 

  bullshitting when he used to get drunk and brag about how 

  great she was in bed, how uninhibited, the things she would 

  do. Now I know for myself that it wasn't just bragging- it 

  was the truth!

      Kirstin was thinking that she'd miss them, both of 

  them, not either in particular. Making love with each of 

  them was different and good in its own way, but all three of 

  them was the real turn-on for her now and she wondered if 

  she'd ever be satisfied with just one man again. Eric is 

  freer, more loose, less inhibited than Paul, more willing to 

  try things that we think up on the spur of the moment even 

  if they seem crazy or laughable, or just plain don't work. 

  Paul, now, he's more of a traditionalist, likes the 

  missionary position, but he'll give me head though I don't 

  think he likes it that much. Still, I know he never did it 

  for Sherri, and he does for me. Eric, now, he loves to do 

  that to me... jesus, I'm getting the shivers just thinking 

  about it! But I like it best with both of them, can't deny 

  that. It's so wild... one making love to me, the other 

  kissing me, or me giving him head... I've got to stop this 

  or I may as well just throw my dinner aside and strip right 

  here and now. Actually that isn't a bad idea.... Kirstin 

  Anne, stop it! I just got laid, and well laid at that, not 

  half an hour ago!

      Eric looked over and saw her eyes far away and her face 

  flushed, and wondered at her thoughts. Not too much doubt 

  what she's thinking about. But is it me or him, or both of 


                           6





  us? Both, probably. I know she likes it best when both of us 

  make love to her, and why not? My biggest fantasy has always 

  been two women making love to me, or even better, joining in 

  with two lesbians and getting them off, but this is great 

  too. None of us are better than the other; we're all equal 

  with our clothes off. I'd hate to give this up, though, to 

  be honest... still can't quite believe I'm not jealous. I 

  was of all my other girlfriends... but Kirstin isn't a 

  girlfriend. She's herself, independent, and doesn't need or 

  lean on either of us for anything unless she absolutely 

  can't handle it. Even then she doesn't like doing it. That 

  must be the big difference here, that there's no 

  boyfriend/girlfriend or husband/wife crap between any of us. 

  No ties, no commitments. We're pretty sure it'll be over 

  once we reach civilization. Yet I feel a lot for her... I 

  wouldn't call it love, not what I've always thought of as 

  being in love with a woman, but I care a lot for her and 

  she's the best in bed I've ever had, with or without Paul 

  there. And that's fun, too, being able to share something so 

  intimate with your best friend. 

      Finally Kirstin got up with a sigh and collected the 

  plates, taking them to the hole Eric had dug earlier, tossed 

  them in, then took up the shovel and filled it in, tamping 

  the clods back in firmly. Both Eric and Paul watched her go 

  and work, but looked away when she came back and sat down, 

  pouring herself another cup of cold water. Dusk was just 

  falling, the sky above them a soft purple-blue, pale 

  pinkish-rose to their left. The silence stretched out, 

  almost to the point of being uncomfortable, before she 


                           7





  finally said, "Well, no reason to stay up, and we may as 

  well get an early start tomorrow. We're not going to get 

  anywhere sitting here."

      Paul grinned widely. "Is there some other reason you're 

  so eager to go in the tent with us?"

      "Oh, you..!"

      "Embarrassed, Kirstin?" Eric joined in on the teasing. 

  "You're the one who had to get us used to the idea. I'd say 

  you did a damned good job."

      "Yeah, too good!" she agreed vehemently, pretending to 

  be pissed, but she enjoyed the teasing and joking, even when 

  she was the butt of it. "Looks like I unleashed a couple of 

  monsters!"

      Paul looked down at the crotch of his jeans, then back 

  at her, still grinning. "Yeah, one at least."

      "Screw you, asshole, I seen what you got and it ain't 

  worth mentioning," Eric said, grinning too. 

      "That's for me to decide," Kirstin announced, then got 

  up. "Would you two care to take this contest to the test?"

      "Can't resist a dare."

      "Yeah, me either."



      The warm summer days fell into a routine of traveling- 

  jerky for breakfast, scavenging for berries or nuts for 

  lunch, then camping at dusk and hunting for dinner, which 

  was unsuccessful about half the time, so smoked meat was 

  usually the evening meal. The weather stayed clear, to their 

  relief, but the nights got gradually colder even though they 

  were traveling steadily south.


                           8





      On their fifth day walking, they had trouble finding a 

  decent campsite as dusk approached with the things they 

  required: flat, level ground, water, and protection from the 

  cold wind that picked up during the night. They were high in 

  the mountains--they never seemed to manage to hit a valley 

  at night--and level ground was hard to find. "Hey, Eric, 

  let's look over there," Paul pointed as they entered a 

  sloping meadow dotted with low crawling bushes and stunted 

  pines. "Looks like the ground's flat over there."

      Eric glanced over. "Nah, the stream's too far." They 

  were following a good-sized watercourse, which was large 

  enough that they had to wade through rather than step over 

  it. "Let's keep going and see if we can find something 

  closer."

      Paul stopped stubbornly. "Looks, it's almost dark. 

  We've barely got time to get the tent up as it is. I'll haul 

  water. I'm going to go take a look."

      Kirstin, exhausted after the long day's walk, really 

  didn't care one way or the other as long as she could get 

  off her aching feet. She could quite easily believe that 

  Eric had been a drill sergeant in the Army because he was 

  relentless and drove them mercilessly. When he stopped, 

  hands on hips, watching Paul walk across the slanting 

  meadow, she simply dropped where she was and sat on the 

  ground, legs to one side. 

      Eric was really getting pissed about Paul's attitude 

  the past few days. When he was hurt, Paul had seemed to be 

  content to leave the leadership and decisions to him, but 

  now that he was healed, he seemed to think that he knew as 


                           9





  much, if not more, than Eric and was asserting himself. And 

  he wasn't about to give up his authority simply because he 

  knew he was the best equipped to lead them out and survive 

  in the process.

      Paul disappeared around the side of the mountain and 

  only seconds later a startled yell rang out. The something 

  large and white came bounding around where he'd disappeared, 

  and Eric, realizing that it was an animal, yanked the gun 

  out of his waistband, aimed, and fired. The animal stumbled, 

  but kept going. Though he wanted to save ammo, Eric knew 

  they needed the fresh meat and triggered a ten-second burst, 

  this time felling the running animal.

        Kirstin leaped to her feet. "What in the hell is that?"

      Approaching the motionless animal, Eric said, "A 

  mountain goat. Hey, Paul, you can come out now." He pulled 

  his knife out of one jeans pocket and, after dropping his 

  heavy rucksack, knelt and prepared to gut the animal. 

      Kirstin dropped her pack as well. "Don't you think we 

  should move it? It's not that big, and we can butcher it 

  wherever we camp."

      "I'm going to gut and bleed it here, and then we'll 

  carry it over there. Paul was right, that's about the best 

  place to camp. Why don't you take the tent over and start 

  setting it up? I'll be there when I'm done."

      "Yeah, all right." Kirstin picked up one pack in each 

  hand and half-staggered across the meadow, unbalanced by the 

  uneven weight of Eric's rucksack and her pack, and the 

  sloping, sixty-degree-angled ground. When she got to where 

  they'd first seen the animal, where the ground was fairly 


                           10





  level for a ten-foot-square area or so, she dropped the 

  packs, untied the tent from the back of Eric's rucksack, and 

  began to unfold it. It was then that she realized something 

  was wrong and stood up quickly, calling out, "Paul? Paul, 

  where are you?"    

      Only the wind sighing through the pines below them 

  answered. She glanced over at Eric, who was up to his elbows 

  in blood, scooping the animal's guts out of its abdominal 

  cavity. Beginning to worry, she walked over to where the 

  mountain sloped upward sharply, which Paul had disappeared 

  around. Around the bend was a narrow ledge, which looked 

  barely wide enough for the sheep to have stood on, and 

  tapered off to a ninety-degree slope to the top of the 

  mountain above them. She stepped back and looked down. "Oh 

  holy shit! Paul, hang on! I'm gonna go get Eric!"

      He was too terrified to move, much less call out. 

      "Eric, get over here," Kirstin cried as she ran across 

  the sloping meadow toward him. "Paul's in trouble, and we 

  need the rope. Where is it?"

      "Oh, fuck," Eric grumbled, getting to his feet. "Gimme 

  something to wipe off with. What'd he do now?"   "He didn't 

  do anything, you cold son of a bitch, he's trapped on a 

  boulder about ten feet down and there's nothing but rock 

  beneath him! If he falls he's dead!" Kirstin snapped 

  angrily, then turned and ran back to where their packs were 

  set out. "Now where is that motherfucking rope?" Eric was 

  shocked both by her outburst and from the news. "In my 

  pack." He ran past her and looked down, seeing Paul sprawled 

  out on a boulder that was maybe the size of his console TV 


                           11





  at home, clinging to the bare rock with what seemed to be 

  sheer will alone, and he saw that the slightest movement 

  could dislodge him and send him tumbling down the slope of 

  rock to the gorge below. Kirstin was right- one wrong move 

  and he was dead. She panted up beside him, carrying the coil 

  of nylon rope, which Eric was fervently glad they hadn't cut 

  up, though they almost had several times, especially when 

  they'd made the travois. "I can only see one way to do this, 

  Kirstin," he said unhappily. "Paul can't move, so one of us 

  is going to have to go down there and get him. You can't 

  lower me down, so I'm going to have to stay up here. Think 

  you can do it?"

      She glanced at him, her look suggesting that he was 

  stating the obvious. "I'll have to. Quit wasting time and 

  get that tied around me. He could slip and fall at any 

  time."

      Eric wrapped the rope around a fairly sturdy pine tree 

  a foot or so away, tied one end around Kirstin's waist, 

  under her crotch and up over her shoulders for extra 

  support, then took hold of the other end and braced himself. 

  "Okay, I'm ready. Start by backing down."

      "Yeah." Kirstin, with little thought for her own safety 

  or the fear of heights that she'd had to learn to ignore 

  during this trip, leaned over the precipice and called, "I'm 

  coming down, Paul. You're going to have to watch for me so I 

  don't knock you off by mistake. When my legs are close 

  enough, grab on, and Eric'll pull us up."

      Right below the ledge was a concave area, and as 

  Kirstin let herself over, she swung out into space and 


                           12





  screamed unthinkingly. But the rope held, digging into her 

  crotch, so she called out, "I'm okay--that was scary--keep 

  letting me down, Eric. Just a few more feet."

      Paul barely breathed as he craned his neck up to look. 

  He had never been so scared in his life, not even when the 

  truck had slid over the mountain, as he was now. Only four 

  or five feet above him swung Kirstin's brown leather hiking 

  boots, which Paul was glad to see laced up past the ankle. 

  If he started to fall and had to grab onto them, it was 

  unlikely that they'd come off. Jerkily her legs swung down 

  toward him, then past, until her face was level and beside 

  his. Bracing her hands against the dirt in front of her, 

  Kirstin looked over at him, her face as calm as a Raphael 

  Madonna's. "Okay, Paul, I'm going to grab your shoulders, 

  and you hang on to me. On the count of three, okay? Ready? 

  One, two... three!"

      As her strong hands clutched his shoulders Paul felt 

  himself start to slide, and he was so terrified that he 

  couldn't let go of the smooth rock, but there wasn't 

  anything for him to hang on to. "I'm falling, Kirstin!"

      "No shit! Grab onto me, Paul, I can't hold you much 

  longer!" Kirstin's fingers curled around one of the straps 

  of his backpack and that arrested his slide, but one of her 

  arms took his hundred and thirty pounds or so and she knew 

  right away that she was going to have to let go soon or have 

  her arm dislocated. "Paul, I'm going to have to let go- grab 

  onto me, you shithead! Or you're going to fall!"

      With a supreme effort that took more courage than he'd 

  ever had before, Paul let go of the rock and wrapped his 


                           13





  arms around Kirstin's waist. For one sickening second, 

  before he got his grip, Paul felt himself sliding fast. Then 

  he stopped and they clung to each other for several seconds, 

  hearts beating fast, dangling in midair, before Kirstin was 

  able to call, "I've got him! Pull us up, Eric!"

      It wasn't until they were over the edge and actually 

  being dragged across the rough ground that Paul let himself 

  believe he was still alive and not splattered across the 

  rocks far below. Even though they were safe he clung to 

  Kirstin, and when Eric came over, he grabbed him too and the 

  three of them huddled together on the ground, just happy to 

  be alive and together, once again reminded of how fragile 

  their lives were.

  (3752)

















                           14





                 CHAPTER XV- KIRSTIN HUNTS

                              

      Three weeks passed, and Eric began looking for signs of 

  civilization every time they reached high ground, but he 

  didn't see so much as a curl of smoke. And though he kept 

  expecting the mountains to end, they went on and on in the 

  distance. "There's something wrong," he told Paul and 

  Kirstin as they stood on a rocky granite outcropping at the 

  peak of a high mountain, lower ones spread below them into 

  the distance. "From here we should be able to see something- 

  roads, smoke, planes, even lights at night. But there's 

  nothing."

      "Maybe my time warp idea wasn't so farfetched after 

  all," Kirstin remarked. "You're right, something's wrong, 

  but we don't have time to figure it out, Eric. If we don't 

  find a town or something soon we're going to have to hole up 

  for winter."

      "As much as I hate the thought of spending the winter 

  out here, I have to admit you may be right. But we should 

  keep traveling until it gets cold enough to be dangerous to 

  us."

      "Yeah, let's do that," Paul agreed, stepping up beside 

  Kirstin and putting an arm around her waist below the pack. 

  Ever since his close brush with death, Paul had gotten in 

  the habit of touching both of the others more frequently, 

  though with Eric it was usually just a hand on his shoulder 

  or arm while they were talking, things like that. "We can 

  look for a cave while we're traveling."

      Kirstin shrugged, leaning on him. "I like to hike, but 


                           1





  this is ridiculous. How far have we walked, Eric, have you 

  kept track?"

      "Yeah. About eighty miles, more or less. That's why I 

  thought we'd come farther than we have." He pulled the small 

  compass from the truck out of one of his olive shirt 

  pockets. "According to this, we're heading south-southeast, 

  which is what we want. We must have passed Fort Liard, but I 

  think we should keep going and look for whatever's next. 

  And, like you said, if we find a decent cave before 

  civilization, then we'll stay there until spring. We've seen 

  a lot of caves, maybe we should start exploring some of 

  them."

      That night they ate the last of their meat for dinner, 

  which was from a small deer Eric had shot two days ago. 

  After cleaning up, since it was still light, Kirstin 

  suggested taking stock of what they had. "It might help to 

  know what we don't have," she added.

      "Yeah, that's a good idea," Eric agreed. "Let's dump 

  the packs and lay everything out on the ground." With the 

  three of them working, it didn't take long. Soon the ground 

  was littered with their belongings, and Eric frowned. "I 

  thought there was more ammo than that."

      "No, you used up almost half a clip on those elk the 

  other day," Paul pointed out. "I told you we were too far 

  away."

      Seeing an argument in the early stages, Kirstin changed 

  the subject quickly. "We're going to have to take a day or 

  two to wash clothes, Eric," she pointed out. "Everything we 

  have is not only dirty, it's about to get up and walk away 


                           2





  by itself."

      He suddenly became aware of his own odor- you got used 

  to it quickly when you couldn't shower every day. "Can't 

  argue with that. Here is as good a spot as any, I guess." 

  They had finally managed to camp in a valley, and a 

  good-sized river ran down the middle so there was water 

  close. They had, in fact, set up the tent only a few feet 

  away from the river. "Guess I could try hunting. We're 

  completely out of food."

      Kirstin stared at their things. There were stacks of 

  clothes, which they had enough of, but only two and a half 

  clips left for the gun, two knives and their three spears 

  for weapons, two rolls of toilet paper, half a bottle of 

  shampoo, two bars of soap, and half a box of sanitary 

  napkins, but no paper plates or plastic silverware though 

  the big spaghetti pot, bucket, bowls, mugs and coffeepot 

  were still with them. There was plenty of fishing gear, but 

  they hadn't seen a lake large enough to fish in since 

  leaving the one they'd spent a week at. There was 

  three-quarters of a roll of aluminum foil, plastic jars of 

  salt, pepper, onion and garlic powder, and hickory smoke 

  seasoning, but no food. That was it, all they had to survive 

  a severe far northern winter on. "Yeah, we need another deer 

  to make jerky out of and smoke."

      "I've been thinking about trying to make snares," Paul 

  said slowly as they began to gather up their things and put 

  them back in the packs. "That yellow rope is too 

  conspicuous, but if we can get a deer I'd try it with 

  rawhide cut into strips."


                           3





      "That might work, but in the meantime, why don't you go 

  out with your net? We passed a marshy area back at the mouth 

  of the valley and I'd bet there's ducks or geese there if 

  they haven't gone south already," Kirstin said. "And I'll go 

  out gathering, as usual."

      "Kirstin... do you want to try hunting?" Eric asked 

  thoughtfully. "You know, you were the best dart player among 

  us. That means you've got good aim."

      "Eric, I've never fired a weapon in my life and we 

  don't have enough ammo for me to practice," she pointed out. 

  "Otherwise I'd give it a shot."

      "Bad pun," Paul groaned, digging his net out of one of 

  the packs.

      "It wasn't intended to be." Kirstin had to grin, 

  though.

      "Why don't you come with me anyway? We can forage while 

  we're looking for tracks."

      "Yeah, all right." Kirstin was sorting the laundry, 

  since she usually did the heavy stuff--jeans, jackets, 

  military clothes--first so they would start drying while she 

  washed the rest. She planned to start on it first thing in 

  the morning. "Hang on, I'm almost done."

      Paul took off carrying his net, and Eric waited 

  impatiently while Kirstin carried the three piles of clothes 

  into the tent where they'd be safe in case their occasional 

  canine visitors made an appearance while they were gone. 

  They weren't sure if these were the same wolves that had 

  bedeviled them around the truck, but they pulled the same 

  tricks: digging up the garbage, chewing anything left out, 


                           4





  and howling in the middle of the night. However, they hadn't 

  been able to chew through the heavy oiled canvas of the 

  military tent yet. "Okay, let's go."

      They walked east, opposite of the way Paul had gone, 

  leaving broken branches and scuff marks in the ground to 

  show their trail back. Both kept their eyes open for 

  vegetation they'd recognize: the feathery tops of wild 

  carrots, dandelion greens, gone-to-seed umbels of onion 

  bulbs, peppermint leaves, and anything else that might look 

  familiar or edible, such as berries and/or fruit fallen from 

  trees. Kirstin picked some purple wild iris, having heard 

  somewhere that most flowers were edible. It couldn't hurt to 

  try them. They talked little and tried to be as quiet as 

  possible, hoping to flush a deer since it was beginning to 

  get dark and that was when they usually came out to feed.

      Most of the valley was open and grassy, but there was a 

  large stand of mixed evergreen and deciduous trees at the 

  northeastern end, thick brush beneath them. To Eric this 

  looked like good deer country, so he whispered to Kirstin 

  that they would look for berry bushes or a tree with nuts or 

  fruit and stake it out until it got too dark to see. He'd 

  had luck with that before, though all he'd gotten was a 

  yearling buck that didn't have much meat on it.

      Eric led the way down a narrow trail that was 

  pockmarked with deer tracks and Kirstin followed close 

  behind, her spear held ready though she didn't think she'd 

  need it. When he stopped dead in his tracks she walked 

  straight into his back, and thought angrily that it was a 

  good thing her spear had been in one hand and not both, 


                           5





  pointed forward, or she would have skewered him. He turned 

  and held one finger against his lips, then pointed. Kirstin 

  followed his finger then gasped silently, for among the 

  trees ahead was a small herd of large deer. Just one of them 

  would feed the three of them for a month, maybe more. Her 

  eyes widened as Eric handed the gun to her and she shook her 

  head, but he leaned over and whispered, "You can't miss at 

  this distance. They're less than fifty feet away. Go ahead, 

  try it. If you miss give me the gun back and I'll take a 

  shot."

      Hesitantly Kirstin took the gun. It wasn't as heavy as 

  she'd thought it would be, but heavy for her hands. "Sight 

  down the barrel," Eric added in a whisper, then stepped 

  aside and behind her. "You can do it, Kirstin, I know you 

  can. Take your time and aim, and be ready for the recoil."

      She didn't want to, but realized that this could quite 

  literally mean the difference between life and death for 

  them. Though she didn't like the idea of killing another 

  being, there were no supermarkets around where she could go 

  buy sterile and processed meat. Here, they had to kill and 

  butcher their own... or die. So she raised the gun, holding 

  it like she'd seen cops on TV do, and when Eric didn't say 

  anything or correct her grip, she lined up the sights on the 

  barrel on a large antlered animal, braced herself, and 

  squeezed the trigger.

      What Eric hadn't thought to tell her was that the 9mm 

  was a semi-automatic weapon that he'd modified for full 

  automatic fire, and that if the trigger was held down, it 

  fired continuously, which is what the pistol did as Kirstin 


                           6





  didn't let up. Luckily there had only been about ten bullets 

  left in the clip and when they were spent she let off the 

  trigger, recovering from her surprise at its repeated 

  firing. The muzzle of the gun had lifted as she shot and now 

  leaves and twigs drifted down from overhead. "Jesus, you 

  asshole, I didn't know it'd do that!"

      Eric took the gun from her, grinning, and hurried down 

  the trail. "That's okay, there weren't many bullets left 

  anyway. Come on, I know I saw something fall."

      To their shocked surprise not one, but three large 

  caribou lay on the ground, two of them dead, the other dying 

  but still alive. Rather than use a bullet Eric slit its 

  throat and then they stood there, staring at the tremendous 

  amount of meat. "God, are we going to be busy for a while," 

  Eric finally said, kneeling beside the animal he'd put out 

  of its misery and spreading the hind legs, preparing to 

  start the abdominal cut at the anus like Paul had shown him. 

  "Between processing the meat and skins we may as well plan 

  on staying here for a while."

      "Oh, man, I didn't mean to kill all of them," Kirstin 

  said, still shocked. "What a waste. One was okay, we needed 

  it to eat, but three of them? I feel like a total shit, 

  Eric."

      "Kirstin, don't. Instead of regretting what you can't 

  change, let's see what we can do here. If the meat gets 

  wasted it will be a shame, so let's see how much we can 

  save."

      That made sense, she had to admit. And though 

  butchering made her nauseous and disgusted her, she joined 


                           7





  in and helped, feeling obliged to finish what she'd started.

      Paul showed up just a few minutes later and was aghast 

  at the carnage, but a meaningful glare from Eric while 

  Kirstin wasn't looking made him bite his unspoken words 

  short. Instead he just said, "Wow."

      "Paul, do you think you can bring the tent and packs 

  here? Or do you need help?"

      "I can't carry it all myself, but it's not far so two 

  of us could do it. Yeah, we'll have to camp here. No way 

  we're getting them back there."

      He and Kirstin went to get their stuff and Eric 

  continued gutting the caribou. He hadn't known that caribou 

  were in the mountains, not having seen any before, but he 

  supposed anything was possible. Though they didn't know it, 

  what they'd sighted was a few young bucks that had gotten 

  seperated from the main herd traveling from calving to 

  wintering grounds, which had been getting ready to break up 

  since the rut was coming and soon former friends would 

  become enemies in competition to mate with the does. 

      By the time they returned, Eric had gutted all three 

  and was starting to skin one. After the tent was set up it 

  was too dark to see much even with the bonfire and 

  flashlight, so they decided just to stay up and guard the 

  carcasses until it got light out again.

      Kirstin took the first watch while the men slept, since 

  all of them were too tired tonight for anything else. That 

  was unusual, she thought with a small, almost rueful grin. 

  One thing I'll never have to worry about as long as the 

  three of us are this 'triad' is lack of getting laid. It 


                           8





  always seems that if one doesn't want it, the other does. 

  And if I don't feel like it, they never make an issue out of 

  it. Paul usually tries to get me excited, but if I tell him 

  I'm really tired, he'll let up. Eric doesn't push it, he 

  just jacks off, and I don't mind that. She leaned forward 

  and took a chunk of dry pinewood from the pile by the side 

  of the fire and threw it on the flames, watching golden 

  sparks spiral up into the dark sky, illuminating the trees 

  close around their impromptu camp. Kirstin was a little 

  uneasy in the thick woods, much preferring open land or less 

  dense forest where they could see a ways, but squashed her 

  feelings since they didn't have any other choice but to camp 

  here after her day's overkill. She didn't like to think 

  about that, and instead went back to daydreaming about the 

  things she, Eric, and Paul did sexually, one of her favorite 

  recent occupations when not actually doing it.

      It took a while since her mind was otherwise occupied, 

  but eventually Kirstin got around to noticing that there was 

  something dark moving around just outside the light of the 

  fire. Quickly, reacting without thinking, she threw four big 

  logs on the fire and as they caught, saw several large grey 

  and brown wolves slink away from the light. "Fuck! ERIC! 

  PAUL! Get out here and bring the gun! Wolves!"

      She jumped to her feet, grabbing the spear that lay 

  beside her, but apparently the wolves, knowing they'd been 

  sighted, decided what the hell, let's go for it. One leapt 

  over a caribou and stood stiff-legged about two feet from 

  her, growling, its hackles raised. Kirstin froze, not daring 

  to move, knowing she could never hope to stab it before it 


                           9





  had torn her throat out, amazed that a wild wolf would be 

  offensive around humans. Wolves were shy and defensive, 

  fighting only when their lives or territory were threatened. 

  Moments later the gun barked and the wolf was thrown back 

  against the carcass, but another wolf appeared near one of 

  the other caribou, the skinned one, ripping a chunk off then 

  racing away. "Son of a bitch but they're bold!" Eric 

  growled, standing beside Kirstin with the gun held ready. 

      "That's a lot of meat," she said thoughtfully, still 

  shaken but thinking logically. "If we keep the skins, which 

  we need, why don't we let them have some, Eric? We wouldn't 

  be able to store that much meat even if we had a freezer."

      "What, are you crazy? Then they'll never leave us 

  alone, Kirstin! They'll be hanging around worse than ever, 

  and when we don't have meat to spare, they'll steal it right 

  out of our mouths. No, we can't."

      A shadowy form ran to the caribou farthest from the 

  fire and began tugging at it. Eric aimed carefully and shot 

  but missed, the wolf running off with a chunk hanging from 

  its jaws. "Let's build more fires," Paul suggested. "Maybe 

  we could even build fires all the way around the deer. They 

  don't seem to be too afraid of the gun but they surely know 

  what fire is and what it'll do."

      "Yeah, that's a good idea," Eric agreed. "But we've got 

  to be careful. I think they'd just as soon attack us if we 

  get in between them and the meat."

      All three of them together went to build more fires, 

  glad they'd gotten in the habit of gathering more firewood 

  then they usually needed. Instead of building separate fires 


                           10





  they built one long one, just setting logs end to end and 

  dousing them with the gasoline they'd brought along in one 

  of the canteens to start them burning quickly. The wolves 

  stayed just outside the firelight, snarling and growling, 

  but as soon as the ring of fire was completed, they backed 

  off and, finally, disappeared.

      By Eric's watch it was quarter to one in the morning. 

  "I don't know if any of us dare sleep. Safety's in numbers 

  too."

      Kirstin yawned, as she'd been doing for the last half 

  hour since the wolves had left. "I've got to go to bed, man. 

  I can't stay awake any longer. Why don't you and Paul stay 

  up for a while, let me sleep a couple of hours, then two of 

  us can trade? And vice versa until morning." "And what then? 

  It's gonna take all three of us to get this meat cut and 

  dried," Paul pointed out. "We can't stay awake around the 

  clock."

      "Okay, one at a time, then. Whoever's on watch takes 

  the gun, and watch yourself when you've got to put more wood 

  on the fires out there. They could be watching and waiting 

  for us to slip up. Wolves're intelligent, I know that."

      "Yeah, and these're acting mighty weird," Kirstin said 

  as she got up, pushing off her jeans. "I've never heard of 

  wolves acting like this- not afraid of us or the gun."

      Paul, too, headed for the tent. "You should skin that 

  wolf, Eric, and save the fur. It's warm, look how thick."

      "Yeah, waste not, want not, as Busia used to say."

  (3075)



                           11





