Two Crazy, One Wild

by Shaye Marlow

  “That was pretty epic, though,” Rory said. “The way you… tackled that guy, and scared those dogs.”

  My grin didn’t feel quite right on my numb lips.

  “I got video.”

  “You did?” I looked back at him with a surge of manly fondness.

  “Yeah,” Rory wheezed. “It’s on my phone. Which is in my pocket.”

  “Oh.” In his very, very wet pocket.

  We were getting close to shore, and I was trying to figure a way up onto it. It wasn’t a beach with a gentle slope up and out. It was a cut-bank, five feet straight up with moss and bushes and trees hanging over.

  “Waterproof case, though,” he said.

  “Oh, good.”

  “Yeah. Best money I ever spent.”

  “Even better than… that midget stripper?” I asked, straining to reach for a handhold in the trailing bushes. “What was her name?” I missed, and the river swept us into a mess of branches. They scraped and snagged as the current forced us under. I maintained my grip on my brother while struggling to pry us free.

  Finally, I tumbled back to the surface, and hauled Rory with me.

  He gasped. “Molly. It was Molly, and… no, you might be right. Molly was better.”

  I dragged Rory close to shore again. Not knowing if I had the energy for another try, I reached out and caught a tree root. It held as I towed us closer. “Here, grab this and hold on,” I said, directing his hands. “I’ll climb up, then I’ll pull you out.”

  Easier said than done. I quickly discovered I had no strength in my hands. Ignoring the pain as they slid over rough bark, I gripped tighter, willing them to work. Hand over hand, using my feet where I could, I climbed.

  “Molly was amazing,” Rory said through chattering teeth.

  If anything, it was colder out of the water. I was soaking wet in the brisk air, and all I wanted to do was collapse atop the bank. I was done swimming, done climbing. Done, period.

  But, my brother.

  I pushed onto my hands and knees, and clambered around. After jamming my numb feet under a root, I lay down and reached for him. “Take my hand,” I ordered.

  Rory’d rested his head against the root he held, and didn’t answer.

  “Rory!” When he didn’t respond, I grabbed him by the hair and yanked. I was ready and willing to drag his heavy ass up to dry land by his overgrown mullet. But, Rory squealed and reached for whatever was hurting him. Grabbing his bound wrists, I hauled him upward.

  His head flopped back, and he grinned drunkenly up at me. “I love you, man.”

  “You’re hypothermic,” I said, stumbling over the syllables.

  He was also a dead weight. Two hundred pounds of muscle under a nice layer of cushioning. Cushioning which, at the moment, I was cursing. My arms shook.

  “Dammit, Rory. You need to stop eating… so many… cookies.” I grunted as I heaved his upper body onto the cut-bank.

  He didn’t even try to help. He just lay there, face down, arms outstretched, and mumbled, “Fuck you.”

  “Dude, I’m saving your life.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be a dick about it,” Rory said as I dragged him back from the edge.

  When he was clear, I dropped him and fell onto my ass in the weeds. I was sweating with exertion and shivering at the same time.

  Rory, on the other hand, the lazy bastard, just lay there. He wasn’t sweating, or shivering. He just sprawled, and tried to go to sleep.

  I groaned, knowing what I had to do. I dragged my sorry self to my feet, then bent to untie him. Once his wrists and ankles were free, I yanked at my brother. “C’mon,” I said. “We need to move.”

  “Tired,” he mumbled, batting at me.

  I bent so my mouth was right next to his ear. “Get your ass up! Now!”

  He jumped, and then, bitching the whole way, he let me drag him upright. Swaying, he looked around at the woods. “Which way do we go?”

  “We head back toward the house,” I said. “And if we find an empty cabin first, we hole up there for a bit, and make a fire.”

  Rory nodded. “So… which way’s that?”

  Muttering with disgust, I grabbed him by the arm. “I like you better when your brain’s working.”

  “How come you’re doing so well?” he asked, tripping along behind me.

  “Well, Rory, it’s because I’m me, and you—”

  He tripped, I lost my grip on him, and he landed face-first in a mudhole.

  “—are you.”

  Rory came up spitting mud, and I reached to help him up. He didn’t accept my hand. “Hey,” he said, his tone wondering, “it’s warm!”

  Chapter Three

  ZACK

  Three Days Later

  “Nuh-uh. No. I’m not doing it.”

  I popped the cap off another beer, and handed it to Rory. “She’s a pilot,” I said. “She knows how to do everything I want to learn.”

  “That is wrong on so many levels,” Rory said, shaking his head. He peered at me, then swung an arm around so that his finger was in front of my face. “Firstly,” he said, “she is related to Curious George, that bloodthirsty hunting guide lodge-owning bastard that had us dumped in the river.”

  “Pretty sure Ed said ‘Furious’ George,” I said. “And we don’t know she’s related. She could be housekeeping. Or… or a hunting guide.”

  Rory scoffed, telling me in no uncertain terms what he thought about that, and then held up a second finger. “Secondly,” he said, interrupting his own diatribe to take a long swig of beer. “Secondly, you have to be a flight instructor to teach people how to fly.”

  “You have to be a flight instructor to sign a student off so that they can get their private pilot, not necessarily to teach,” I pointed out.

  Rory opened his mouth as if to argue, and then his eyes narrowed. He gazed off into the distance for several moments, then drank some more.

  Rising, I went to get him another beer.

  “So, you’re not planning on doing this legally,” Rory said.

  “I’m planning on doing it any-which-way I can,” I said, sitting back down. “We need to get that bear. We have to show up the Trebuchet Gang.”

  Rory nodded. “Fine. But.” He held up a third finger. “What on earth makes you think she’ll teach you? She dumped us out of a plane!”

  I shrugged. “Can’t hurt to ask.”

  “That’s what you plan on doing?” He scoffed, swiping the beer from in front of me and deftly flipping the cap off on the edge of the table. “Just waltz in there, past the Rottweilers, past the hunting guides you assaulted, and ask?”

  “I’ll think of something,” I said. “The bottom line is, we put in a runway. And why the hell did we do that if I’m not gonna learn how to fly? I mean, the last air taxi that’d haul for us just told us not to call them again, so they won’t be using it. I refuse to waste my money, especially not after paying Manny twice the going rate for the work, so that damn runway needs to be used by somebody. And that somebody might as well be me, right?

  “And let’s think bigger than that bear for just a minute, Rory. With a pilot’s license, we could go anywhere. We could go caribou hunting, or fly up to Fairbanks for the weekend in a fraction of the time it’d take to drive. Same for halibut fishing. We could see things nobody’s ever seen before, just take off, whenever we want. We’d have total freedom.

  “And, you think motorcycles get ’em wet? Just picture yourself climbing out of a shiny bush plane with big, fat tires, a moose rack filling up the back window. You take off your headset, step down, pull off your aviators, and flip back your hair,” I said. I knew I was probably reaching a bit, but hey: This was Rory. And he did have hair long enough to flip.

  Rory grunted. But I could see his mind working behind his blue and somewhat boozy gaze.

  “And I was thinking,” I continued, “tonight would be a good night to get the ball rolling.”

  Rory muttered around the mouth of his beer, but it was n
owhere near the strident objecting he’d been doing before I started lubricating him.

  “The moon’s high, the light is good. They’re probably all drunk from their weekend partying. They’d never expect us to come back.”

  Still, he was silent.

  “Please, Rory. Usually it’s you with the crazy schemes, and I come right along for the ride, no questions. This time, it’s me, and I’d really appreciate your support.”

  “I don’t wanna go tromping through the woods. I want a nap.”

  I slapped the hand he’d laid on the table, ignoring his yelp. “Listen to yourself! Adventure, you promised me. By dragging your feet on this, you’re violating the terms of our pact.”

  “Dunno what you’re talking about,” Rory said, glancing away.

  “Our pact,” I said, leaning forward. “You and me, doing what we want and fuck what others might say, living life and having fun, and letting nothing and no one come between us. Remember? That was the deal.”

  Rory drooped. “But I’m tiiired. And I’m thirty-fucking-one. Thirty-one-year-olds only have fun between the hours of nine and five. Oh, and we take naps.”

  “Not in this house, they don’t.”

  Rory pouted.

  I watched him for several moments. “I’ll make you a deal. We go up to the lodge, talk to the girl, and then you can have your nap.”

  Rory squinted. “I see what you’re doing here. You’re trying to map— mal— manipulate me.”

  I raised my brow at him. “You think I could outsmart you?”

  “No, you’re right. Not possible. So, what was it again, that you wanted to do? Go and talk to some girl?”

  “Yep. You and me, in the Jeep, a nice ride through the woods, and a short, sweet little chat. You could get behind that, couldn’t you? You can even stretch out in the back.”

  We sat silently for several moments, Rory in a drunken stupor, me in a deceptive slouch. I watched him, waiting.

  “Blargh! Fine. Let’s go get burned by your lady in red, again,” Rory said, dragging himself to his feet. He turned and walked toward the living room.

  “The Jeep’s that way,” I said, pointing toward the front door. “And it’s not gonna go down like that.”

  “My blankie is over here,” Rory said, pulling a red plaid throw from the couch, along with a pillow. He followed me out the door. “And it most certainly is gonna go down that way. That bitch of yours’ll probably hold court while a circle of hunting guides take turns beating the shit out of you. Of us. I must be insane.” He climbed into the back seat.

  “Don’t call her a bitch,” I said, getting in the driver’s seat.

  “Or what?” Rory mumbled, making himself comfortable back there.

  “Or I’ll turn on Beethoven.” I pushed in the clutch and turned the key, starting the engine.

  “You don’t scare me,” he murmured.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Behind me, Rory started to snore.

  With a grin, I put the Jeep in first, and drove into the woods.

  A half hour later, Rory cried out and shot to a sitting position. Looking up, he realized I was what’d poked him. “Where are we?”

  “We’re in the woods,” I said. “Just below George’s place. We gotta hike from here.”

  He frowned, and then his face cleared. “You got me drunk!”

  “I did. Now, c’mon.” I climbed out of the Jeep.

  “Hell no, I won’t.”

  “Rory…”

  “And stop looking at me like that! It would be stupid to do this again. Beyond stupid. Imbecilic. Moronic. Just plain dumb.” Despite his words, he slid to the ground.

  “Rory…”

  “I don’t care that you’ve got a hard-on for this girl. She’s a harpy, I tell you. She’s crazy. You don’t want to stick your dick in that. Lunacy’s catching.” He gripped my arm, his eyes burning with intensity.

  I shook him off. “Fine, then. I’ll go. You can do what you want,” I said, stepping away.

  “Wait. But… you’re gonna leave me here by myself? In the dark?”

  “That’s your choice,” I said. “I’m taking the keys.” I only made it a few steps before Rory came hustling after me.

  “You’re an asshole,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “No, really. A total dick. I can’t believe I came out the same vagina as you. Actually, you know what? I bet I didn’t. I bet you were a butt-baby.”

  I snorted a laugh, then hiked ahead. It was a bright night with the moon high, the sky a medium blue. Visibility wasn’t great—the birches were silvery lines, the spruces dark and bushy masses—but it was good enough.

  “So, what do you think they’ll do with us this time?” Rory asked. “Have us keelhauled? Or castrated? Or leave us in a room with whale sounds?”

  “They don’t seem that creative,” I said. “Probably just put bullets in us.”

  Rory stopped, then ran to catch up. “Bullets? I don’t wanna die!”

  “But you’d be okay with castration?”

  “Hell no, I wouldn’t. I don’t want to qualify for a Darwin Award any-which-way. I want to live! And procreate!”

  “Which would also violate the terms of our pact,” I said.

  “Which… damn, did we really agree to never have kids?”

  “Yup. No marriage for either of us.”

  “You don’t have to be married to have kids,” he said. “Accidents do happen. I mean, just look at you.”

  I rolled my eyes, but kept up the banter as we approached the lodge, distracting him from the fear he would otherwise—no doubt—be feeling, and the reasoning he would otherwise—possibly, sometimes—be employing.

  “They have an outhouse,” I said, spotting it.

  “What, you have to go?”

  “No,” I said. “Just, if they have an outhouse, maybe they don’t have indoor plumbing. And if they don’t have indoor plumbing, then they have to come out to use the outhouse…”

  “That trail is pretty well-worn,” Rory observed.

  “…the outhouse, where we will be.”

  “Upwind of which, we will be.”

  “Naturally.”

  We settled in to wait a few trees away from the little hut.

  Ten minutes later: “This is stupid,” Rory muttered.

  “Say that again when we’ve got that bear’s hide on our wall. I don’t see you doing anything to make that happen,” I said.

  “I suggested asking Gary to fly us up there.”

  I scoffed, peering through the ferns. “You know how it works. If we asked him, he’d discuss it with Helly, and then Helly would ask us why, and tell us our plan was stupid, and forbid Gary from participating in our ‘shenanigans’.”

  “His balls aren’t that deeply in her purse,” Rory argued softly.

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. She owns him.”

  We both contemplated that while we watched the shitter for motion.

  “Women are such a pain in the ass,” Rory said.

  “That was just that one time,” I pointed out. “And you were the one who wanted to try it.”

  “Shhh!”

  “What? There’s no one around to hear us.”

  “I can hear you,” Rory said.

  We hunkered just a little lower, still and silent as the back door of the lodge opened, light flashed, and a man ambled out. He didn’t even bother to walk to the outhouse, just unzipped and let ’er rip right there at the edge of the woods. He hummed at first, and then started whistling, poorly.

  Rory was glaring at me, but I waited until the peeing man had gone back inside before acknowledging it. “What?”

  “I still can’t believe I’m out here with you,” he said, shaking his head. “Do you realize… we might have to wait hours? I mean, her bladder could be huge. And what if they do have flush toilets inside? What then?”

  “Then… we strike out. No flying lessons. No bear.”

  “And if this was such an on-the-up-and-
up excursion, if you really do only want to talk to her, why didn’t we come by during the day?”

  “You talk too much,” I murmured, watching the little slice of light between the upstairs curtains wobble. “She’s coming out next,” I said. “Soon.”

  “How can you— You can’t know that,” Rory said.

  “But I do.” I pushed to my feet.

  “What are you doing?” Rory hissed, grasping at me.

  “Positioning myself.”

  “If you ‘position yourself’ on the lawn, I’m going to kill you. And I’m not even kidding on that one. I’ll straight up murder your ass.”

  Laughing softly, I stepped around the outhouse, opened the door, and let myself inside. The smell was… unpleasant, but I found after the first minute or two, it faded a bit. I peered out of the moon shape cut into the door, watching for her. Waiting. Not being creepy at all.

  And just like that, it happened. She stepped out the back door next, but—something I hadn’t counted on—she did it accompanied by a man. A man she was necking with, god-fucking-dammit.

  In my dark and stinky closet, I growled. There was tongue involved, I could see it from here. The man bent her backwards, then swept lower, kissing her neck, headed toward her breasts. Gripping her ass as he dragged her close.

  She laughed, the sound sweet and breathy and wrapping around me like Rory’s polar fleece blankie might’ve. Then she pushed at the guy’s shoulders, and I almost burst out of hiding to kick his ass. But he backed off, and I didn’t have to—lucky for us both, I suppose.

  “Go back inside,” she said, glancing toward the outhouse. “The quicker you let me go, the quicker you’ll get me back. I’ll be upstairs and making you scream in no time. Go get dressed. You know the outfit I like.”

  Her words made my loins tighten, and his lips quirk. “Make it fast,” he said, and then he was gone.

  Well. At least the agenda for tonight didn’t seem to include water sports.

  She headed my way, her determined stride making my heart beat fast with anticipation. Astride the pot, hunkered low under the cobwebbed ceiling, I waited for her with arms outstretched. The door creaked as it swung open.