Dark Mountain

by Richard Laymon

  “Sleeping on the hard ground’ll do that to you. I’ve been having some pretty wild dreams myself. Mostly about you.”

  “Not nightmares, I hope.”

  “No indeedy.” He pulled her sweatshirt up so she was bare against his belly and chest. Gently, he stroked her back. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

  “You don’t want to hear mine.”

  “Might help to talk about it. Maybe we can figure out what it means.”

  “I know what it means. And what brought it on, too—that business about the scars this afternoon.”

  His hands stopped moving. They pressed Karen closer against him. “Your accident?” he whispered.

  “Yeah. Only it’s not Frank trapped in the car, it’s me. He was crouched by the window…all burnt up. He sprayed me with gas…”

  “Good Christ.”

  “You woke me up before he got a chance to light it.”

  “Must’ve been awful.”

  “I’ve had it worse, sometimes. I usually wake up about the time he strikes the match, but a couple of times…I’m on fire and he crawls in through the window and…” She suddenly gagged.

  Scott stroked the back of her head. “It’s all right,” he said. “Shh.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s all right. I’ll tell you about my dreams.”

  “Yours are nice, right?”

  “Very nice. This morning—yesterday morning?—I dreamed it was raining and you came out of your tent in a clear plastic poncho, and nothing else.”

  “You’re making this up.”

  “No. Honest. The rain was coming down real hard. Your hair was all matted down. Your face was slick and dripping. Water was streaming down the outside of your poncho, and I could see gooseflesh underneath. And your nipples were erect.”

  “Like now?”

  A hand went to her breast. “Like now.”

  She sighed as he fingered the nipple.

  “One thing was weird, though.”

  “What?”

  “You know how dreams are.”

  “Weird.”

  “Right. Well, you didn’t have any pubic hair. You’d shaved it off.”

  “This dream of yours is getting me hot.”

  “Me, too.” His hand slid down, caressing her belly. It pushed inside her sweatpants. Slowly, it moved lower. “Just a dream,” he said.

  “I could shave it.”

  “It’s nice this way.”

  “Hey, if you dream it’s shaven, that’s an expression of a frustrated desire, right? I’ll do it. One of these days. It’ll be a”—his sliding finger took her breath away—“a surprise.”

  “Want to hear the rest of the dream?”

  “There’s more?”

  “Sure.” His hand moved away, drawing a slick trail up her skin. He started pulling at the bow in her drawstring. “I said, ‘You must be cold. What happened to your clothes?’ And you told me Julie had stolen them.”

  “Significant, that.”

  “She told you she’d hidden them so you’d have to stay in the tent.”

  “Away from you?”

  “Could be.” The drawstring loose, he pulled at Karen’s sweatpants. She helped by kicking them down her legs. The inside of the sleeping bag felt cool and slippery on her bare skin. Scott caressed the back of her leg. His hand slid up her buttock, held it gently. “Anyway, I said I didn’t want you to freeze. We went into my tent so I could get you some warm clothes, but the only clothes you wanted were the ones I was wearing.”

  “You have very peculiar dreams.”

  “Don’t I? So you made me lie down on top of my sleeping bag. You took off your poncho and knelt over me and started to undress me.”

  “I stripped you naked?”

  “Very slowly.”

  She hooked her fingers under the waistband of his shorts, eased the elastic away from his body, and pulled downward. She felt him spring free. With the back of her hand, she caressed the underside of his rigid penis. She tugged the shorts lower. Then she curled her fingers around him, feeling his hardness and his heat. “Did I do this?” she whispered.

  He answered with a moan.

  “And did I use my mouth?”

  “Yes.”

  Her encircling fingers glided up the smooth length of him. “And did you use your mouth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  His hands showed her where, rubbing, fingers sliding in. She trembled as heat surged through her body. “Unzip the bag,” she gasped.

  “We’ll freeze.”

  “Did you freeze in the dream?”

  “No, but—”

  “Wouldn’t you like your dream to come true? Better yours than mine, right?”

  “You don’t know everything we did.”

  “Show me.”

  He did.

  “This is when I woke up,” he finally gasped.

  “Oh. Oh, Christ. Well, don’t stop now!”

  “But…this is when I—”

  “Ad-lib.”

  When they were through, Scott pulled the cover of the sleeping bag over them. They held each other, panting and sweaty. “Quite a dream,” Karen whispered, and kissed him.

  Later, he fell asleep. Karen lay cuddled against his long smooth warmth, feeling his breath on her face, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest. She was lazy and content. She wanted to let herself slip into sleep and wake up in the morning with him, but she couldn’t.

  It had always been that way. During their months together, she constantly longed for him to stay, to spend the whole night. In the morning, she would make him breakfast. It would be so wonderful, so complete. Instead, he always had to leave her bed and hurry home. For the kids. She certainly didn’t blame him, but she wished it were different. Someday, maybe.

  She kissed his eyelids, his mouth. He stirred against her. His hand moved up her side. It closed gently over her breast. “You’d better be going,” she whispered.

  Scott groaned. “I’d rather not,” he muttered.

  “I know.”

  He held her for a long time. He kissed her. Then he eased away and left the sleeping bag. “Woe, it’s cooold,” he gasped, pulling on his underwear.

  “Do you want my sweatshirt?”

  “No, that’s—”

  “Please. I don’t want you freezing out there.” She tugged it from under her shoulder, and held it out to him. “You can bring it back tomorrow night.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  As he pulled it over his head, Karen sat up. The cold wrapped her bare skin to the waist.

  “Tight fit,” he said. Then he leaned closer and hugged her. She felt his warmth through the softness of the sweatshirt. “Sleep well,” he said. He kissed her again, then released her and crawled out through the tent flap.

  Karen snuggled down in her sleeping bag. She heard his quick footfalls in the leaves, and imagined him rushing toward his tent. She was glad he’d taken her sweatshirt. It was as if part of her had gone with him. She wondered if he would keep it on once he was in his own sleeping bag. Would he wear it and think of her?

  Curling up, she reached under her legs and found her sweatpants. She pulled them free. Instead of putting them on, she pressed the limp legs between her thighs. She smoothed the fabric over her belly and breasts. It was soft and warm. With the pants hugged against her, she fell asleep.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Scott woke up with a bad need to urinate. Lying motionless, he forced one eye open. The tent was murky with morning light. Benny was still asleep, breathing deeply, the red of his stocking cap all that showed of him at the top of his mummy bag.

  After returning from Karen’s tent, Scott hadn’t bothered to put his own cap on. He should’ve. His head was cold, and the rolled-up jeans he used as a pillow felt hard.

  He scooted lower until his head was covered, and brought up an arm to cushion it. A thick, soft sleeve pressed against the side of his face. Karen’s sweatshirt. He sniff
ed it. There was a mild, fresh scent that brought a memory of crawling into her sleeping bag, huddling against her warmth, lifting the sweatshirt up over her breasts. She was without it now. He imagined how she would look wearing only the gray sweatpants. That gave him an erection. Swell, he thought.

  He concentrated on how to conceal the sweatshirt. If the kids should see it…but Benny was still asleep and he heard no one stirring about the campsite. If he got up now, he could hide it in his pack, which was just outside the tent. He might wrap the sweatshirt in something, just to be safe. No telling whether Julie would actually be asleep.

  Hell, if Julie was still sleeping, he could take the sweatshirt right over to Karen’s tent and…no, too risky.

  He didn’t want to leave the snug warmth. He could just stay here. Take off the sweatshirt and leave it hidden in the bottom of the bag until later. Wait right here until the nice hot sun broke over the ridge…. But that might be an hour. My teeth are floating!

  Quickly, he pulled off the sweatshirt. He shoved it down low in the bag, unzipped the side, and climbed out. He gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. Funny, he thought, how the cold didn’t bother him so much when he was sneaking out at night. It’s all in the mind, he told himself. Sure. Feels more like it’s in the bones. Sitting on the slick cover of his sleeping bag, he unrolled his jeans. He pushed his legs in, and leaned back slightly. He stifled a yelp as his shoulders met the cold, wet wall of the tent. Ducking away, he grabbed his cotton shirt and pulled it on.

  He snatched up his hiking boots. Fresh socks were tucked inside them. He willed his hands to stop quaking, but they didn’t obey. Finally, he managed to tug the socks over his feet. He shoved his feet into the boots. The cold of the boots, still damp from yesterday’s sweat, seeped through his socks.

  Why the hell does anyone go camping? he asked himself. We’re a bunch of damn masochists.

  He tucked the laces under the boot tongues. Even if he wanted to tie them, his hands were shaking too badly.

  He crawled toward the tent flap, then remembered Karen’s sweatshirt. He glanced at Benny. Still asleep. Reaching into the warmth of his sleeping bag, Scott pulled out the sweatshirt. He tucked it inside his shirt, and crawled outside.

  He glanced at the two sleeping bags, some twenty feet away, stretched out side by side near the circled rocks of the fireplace. They didn’t seem quite as far apart as the first night. Interesting. The tan hood of Julie’s warm-up suit was all he could see of her. He quickly opened his pack, stuffed the sweatshirt deep inside, and rushed off into the trees behind the tents.

  When he returned, he felt a lot better. If he could just get a fire started, he knew he would feel terrific. Fooling with it, though, he’d be sure to wake up Julie and Nick.

  Their sleeping bags were no more than a yard apart. Very interesting, that. He was glad Julie seemed to like the boy. The way the trip had started, he’d been afraid of a disaster. Since meeting Nick, however, she’d been acting civil. Her resentment of Karen’s presence seemed to have faded to the point where it was hardly noticeable. He supposed he could thank Nick for that.

  And for picking up Julie’s spirits in general. After getting dumped by that turkey, Clemens, she needed a friend.

  O’Toole the matchmaker.

  He took a small satchel and towel from his pack, and walked silently past the tent, heading for the stream. He smiled as he walked.

  Julie would croak if she knew he’d planned it this way. When Flash first mentioned taking his family on a week-long backpacking trip, Scott had imagined spending time in the high mountains alone with Karen. It’d be a shame, though, to leave the kids home. Maybe a trip would help to pull Julie out of her depression…. Then he thought of Flash’s son, a handsome, reliable kid, a bit on the quiet side, but only a year older than Julie. If the two should hit it off at all, Julie might forget about that rat Clemens and start enjoying life again. So he’d suggested to Flash that their families join forces for the trip, and Flash had jumped at the idea.

  Seems the little scheme had paid off.

  The two kids were getting along pretty well—even better than Scott had expected. They didn’t act smitten, but it was obvious that they enjoyed each other’s company, and who knew what might be going on in their minds? Better, maybe, not to know. Just be glad Julie’s back to normal.

  At the stream, he spotted a place where sunlight slanted down through a gap in the trees. The bright swath, hazy with dust motes, fell upon a cluster of rocks not far away. He tramped through the bushes and stepped out onto the rocks. For a long time, he stood motionless, letting the warmth seep into him.

  When he felt sufficiently thawed, he took off his shirt. He crouched low and cupped the cold water into his mouth. Then he brushed his teeth. He managed to raise a thin lather on his face, using a biodegradable soap, and began to shave with a straight razor.

  “You’re a terrible disappointment.”

  He looked downstream. Karen, in her sweatpants and parka, was standing on a log bridge, arms folded across her chest, staring at him. “Come on over here where it’s warm,” he called. He continued to shave while she hurried toward him. She leaped onto a flat rock beside him.

  “Oh, this is better.”

  “And why am I such a disappointment? Or don’t I want to know?”

  “Using a razor,” she said in a mocking tone. “I would’ve expected a macho guy like you to shave with a dull knife.”

  “Tried it once. Half my face came off with the whiskers. This is far superior. Gives a nice, close shave without the in-convenience of a bloodbath.” Smiling up at her, he said, “Did you come by for a shave?”

  A blush darkened her face. “My legs, you mean?”

  “Also your legs, if you like.”

  “Nasty man.”

  “Is that a no?”

  “Other people are up and around.”

  “Damn.” He swirled the blade through the water, wiped it dry across a leg of his jeans, and folded it shut. He splashed water on his face. When the soap was rinsed off, he picked up his towel. “Sleep well?” he asked as he dried his face.

  “Like a rock.”

  “No more dreams?”

  “Not bad ones. How about you?”

  “I’ll tell you about mine to night.”

  “Oh ho-ho!”

  “When I bring back your sweatshirt.” He stood up and lowered the zipper of her parka. She wore nothing under it. He slid his arms inside and around her back, and pulled her against him. She was smooth and warm.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  He kissed her.

  Then there were voices in the distance. Reluctantly, Scott eased away from her.

  “Nobody’s here yet,” she said, and lifted his hands to her breasts. She held them there. Her nipples were firm under his palms. She sighed and her head tilted back, eyes shut against the sun.

  “Wanton woman,” Scott whispered.

  “Wantin’ you,” she said. She pressed his hands firmly against her, then let go.

  Scott moved his hands down the undersides of her breasts, down her ribs, inward as her velvety skin sloped to her belly. Then he pulled together the lower corners of her parka and fitted the zipper into its slot. He raised the tab about three inches. “There.”

  “Oh, charming.”

  Someone came tramping through the bushes. With an exaggerated look of alarm, Karen jerked the zipper to her throat. The footfalls grew louder.

  Scott had time to turn away, crouch, and slip his razor into the satchel before Flash appeared downstream near the log bridge. The man was already dressed in his knit shirt, plaid shorts, and boots. His mussy fringe of red hair was the only clue that he’d just crawled out of his sleeping bag. He squatted by the stream and dipped an aluminum pot into the water.

  “Morning!” Karen called.

  He looked over and waved. “Tally-ho, mates!”

  Scott grinned up at Karen. “Mates?” he asked.

  “Nautical jargon,” she sai
d quietly.

  “Ah. Afraid he was being a wise guy.” Standing up, Scott yelled, “Ahoy and avast, are ye of a mind to weigh anchor?”

  “Ain’t had me coffee yet,” Flash called back.

  “Then we’ll sail for Java.” To Karen, he said, “Shall we be off?”

  “Aye, matey.”

  “Meet you in the galley,” Scott called.

  They made their way back to camp. Julie, still in her warm-up suit, was feeding sticks to the fire. Nick’s sleeping bag was empty, but he was nowhere to be seen. One of the twins was walking into the woods with a roll of toilet paper. Alice, bundled in her coat, was tearing open a plastic bag of powdered eggs with her teeth.

  “Back in a jiff,” Karen said, and headed for her tent.

  In his own tent, Scott saw that Benny was still asleep. “Up and at ’em,” he said, finding a foot through the down-filled bag and giving it a small shake. The boy raised his head and looked around, one eye covered by his red stocking cap. “Sleep well?”

  “Yeah.” Benny reached into the boot by his head, and pulled out his glasses. The lenses were fogged up. He tugged off his cap and put the glasses on anyway, then scrunched up his face as if that might help him to see better. “Where’d you go?”

  “What?”

  “I woke up and you weren’t here.”

  “I’ve been up for a while,” Scott told him.

  “No, I mean last night.”

  Oh, Christ, he thought. He couldn’t lie to his son, but how could he tell the truth? “I took a little walk,” he said.

  “See any coyotes?”

  “Not a one. You better haul yourself out of there and get dressed. Breakfast’ll be ready before you know it.” Before Benny might be tempted to question him further, he backed out of the tent.

  “Ahoy!” Flash said, walking by with a full pot of water.

  “Avast,” Scott said. “I’ll get my stove going.” He took his Primus stove from his pack and carried it over to the fire.

  Julie was there, stretched out on her sleeping bag to squeeze the air out before attempting to mash it into its stuff bag.

  “Have a good night?” he asked her.

  “My feet froze, but aside from that…”

  “Maybe wear an extra pair of socks.” Hanging onto its key chain, he dangled the stove over the flame to heat the fuel. Thank God that Julie, at least, wasn’t aware of his nighttime forays. The truth probably wouldn’t upset Benny, but Julie…If Benny should mention his disappearance last night, she’d guess at once what he’d been up to. She might not throw a fit, but her resentment would surface and she would do her best to make everyone miserable. Probably even start sleeping in the tent just so it wouldn’t happen again.