Walking After Midnight

by Karen Robards

  Would he have kissed her with more enthusiasm if he had ever once seen her with makeup and her hair done?

  Summer made the best of things by weaving a single braid that would hang down her back. The only problem was how to secure the end. Since her blouse was ruined anyway, she decided to tear a strip from that and tie it around the braid. Which was harder than she had thought; she had to gnaw through the material with her teeth first.

  Frankenstein came in while she was chewing on her blouse.

  “You can’t be that hungry yet,” he said.

  Summer made a face at him, ripped the blouse, and secured her hair.

  “How do I look?” she asked, gesturing at her outfit.

  “Like you’ve been camping about a week too long,” he said, and thrust the pair of high-topped black sneakers at her.

  Summer eyed them, but shook her head. “I can’t wear those. They’re miles too big.”

  “Beats going barefoot.”

  “You wear them, and I’ll wear the flip-flops.”

  “Look, Rosencrans, we’re going to be hiking for miles. Miles, do you understand? You can’t hike in flip-flops. You could turn an ankle, and if you do I’ll be damned if I carry you. Or you could step on a broken beer bottle, or a snake. You could …”

  The snake did it. “Give them to me.”

  He did. Summer saw that the athletic socks were inside. With a grimace she sat and pulled them on. As she did, she saw that he was donning the other pair. White low-tops, sockless.

  “How come you get the low-tops, and I get the high-tops?”

  “Because the shoes fit me. They don’t fit you. I gave you the high-tops so you could tie ’em tight around your ankles so they wouldn’t fall off.”

  Good point. Good idea. Summer did as he suggested. By the time she finished, he had already gathered up her discarded clothes, stuffed them into the gym bag, picked up the tire iron, and headed outside again.

  He was gazing into the distance, his mouth unsmiling, his eyes shaded by the brim of the baseball cap, when she joined him. He was clearly out of sorts about something. For her even to be able to tell that much about his expression, she realized, the swelling in his face had to be going down. She wondered again what he would look like when he was back to normal. Would he be handsome? Cut and bruised and blood-streaked as his face still was, it was impossible to say.

  She wished he would kiss her again. With enthusiasm, this time, just to see what kissing Frankenstein would be like.

  “What’re you looking at?” His gaze swung around, catching her eyes on him, and his response was pugnacious. Summer turned pink, embarrassed by her own wayward thoughts. He scowled.

  “You need to wash your face,” she managed to say, and was proud of herself for the coolness and quick thinking of her response.

  “So do you,” he answered, and swung off uphill without another word.

  Summer had had about enough of his surliness. She wasn’t catering to it any longer. Head high, she turned and marched in the opposite direction.

  Muffy, torn, sat on her furry bottom, looked from one separating human to the other, and whined piteously. Summer ignored her, too.

  When she emerged from the shelter of a nearby bush, business completed, she was secretly relieved to find Frankenstein waiting beside Muffy, arms crossed over his chest, shoulder propped against a tree, cap brim pulled low over his eyes. She hadn’t thought he would just walk off and leave her, but she hadn’t been entirely sure. Now she was.

  Hostility radiated from him as she approached. Twelve hours earlier, the mere sight of the monster wearing such a glower would have terrified her. Now, safe in her new certainty that he wouldn’t leave her, she felt at ease enough to glower back.

  “Ready now?” he asked with deep sarcasm.

  “Yes, sir,” she answered with a mock salute, and had the reward of seeing his scowl deepen.

  “Here. We can eat as we walk.”

  He tossed a pack of crackers at her, swung around, and headed off again. Or maybe stalked was a better word.

  20

  The sign hammered into a tree where the trail forked said HAW KNOB, ELEV. 5,472 FEET. The arrow pointed straight ahead.

  When Frankenstein headed east instead, Summer heaved a sigh of relief. Serious mountain climbing at this point would, she feared, just about do her in.

  “Woof.” Chocolate doggy eyes looked up at Summer pleadingly. Muffy squirmed in her arms. Not bothering to set her down—Muffy had already firmly established that she would not walk—Summer shifted her weight to the other arm, and shot a dagger look at the broad masculine back some dozen feet ahead.

  The man was tireless. They’d been walking without a break for what seemed like days. It was twilight now, and she for one was exhausted. Her feet hurt: the too big shoes rubbed blisters on her heels even through the thick socks. Her arms hurt: Muffy, for all her smallness, weighed a ton. Frankenstein’s callous suggestion was that if Summer grew tired of carrying her, she should just pitch her over a cliff; he didn’t offer to carry her.

  And Summer refused to ask.

  Her fondest wish was that Muffy would pee on his foot again.

  But the dog couldn’t even do that if they didn’t stop.

  An insect bite on the side of Summer’s neck itched, and she scratched it dispiritedly. It was one of about two dozen she had collected. As the sun set, the mosquitoes had come out to dine.

  Never in her life had she thought to find herself envying a mosquito, but at least they had something to dine on.

  Summer was so hungry that she ached with it. Her stomach was so empty that it felt like it was collapsing. She pictured it as a deflating balloon.

  There were three packs of crackers left. Frankenstein had already announced that they would have to be saved for the morrow. Summer’s head understood; her stomach emphatically did not.

  “Woof,” Muffy pleaded.

  “Hush,” Summer said, nuzzling her suddenly tortured nose against Muffy’s fur. She knew what had prompted that forlorn bark. She smelled it too: food.

  Up ahead, to their left, was a lodge. Frankenstein was carefully skirting it, anxious to avoid as many people as he could. He was right, of course. The less attention they attracted, particularly given his battered state, the better, but still the aroma pulled at her like a magnet: woodsmoke and grilling steaks. Yum.

  Her mouth watered. Her stomach growled. Muffy whined. Sympathetically, Summer scratched behind her ear.

  Muffy shook her hand off. What she wanted was not love, but food.

  Up ahead, Frankenstein forged on through the trees, looking to neither the left nor the right. Of course, he was beyond feeling anything as human as hunger.

  He’d been cranky all afternoon. If Summer had had any better choices, she would have left him high and dry hours ago.

  Only she didn’t have any better choices.

  She and Muffy were stuck with Frankenstein.

  A couple strolled hand in hand out of the darkness to her right. They saw Summer moving through the trees nearby and gave a friendly wave. Summer waved back and watched them as they continued toward the lodge. She was traveling perpendicular to the path on which they trod; up ahead, Frankenstein had already crossed it. A quick glance showed her that he had been all but swallowed up by the darkness ahead. If she wasn’t careful, she would lose him in the dark.

  Slowing without conscious thought, Summer watched enviously as the couple crossed a small, decorative bridge that led to the lodge’s parking lot. Beyond them, a car pulled in, its headlights illuminating several of its already parked fellows, and picking up the bright madras plaid of the woman’s sundress. Her companion wore a pale blue sport coat and tie and held her hand. Clearly they were going in to dinner.

  Summer ached to be in that woman’s shoes. Not for the sake of the man, or the dress, but for the dinner. Imagining the meal the woman would soon consume threatened to bring tears to her eyes.

  All at once Summer realized that F
rankenstein was completely out of sight. She increased her pace, and tried to keep her mind off food.

  It was impossible. Her nose was mercilessly tantalized. Her gaze kept slipping sideways. The lodge was lit and so were several cabins to one side of it. Through the uncurtained windows, Summer could see the silhouettes of people inside the buildings. The couple she’d been watching reached the stone terrace. Another couple moved toward them, and they shook hands all around. Then they went inside—undoubtedly to have dinner.

  By chasing after Frankenstein, she would be leaving behind what she was rapidly coming to think of as the last outpost of civilization. The tantalizing smell of grilling steaks beckoned her back.

  Frankenstein didn’t care if she starved.

  She could turn around, right that very minute, and become part of civilization again simply by joining the people at the lodge. Their company would be infinitely preferable to that of a grumpy murderer who had hardly deigned to glance at her for hours. A murderer who was on the run for his life—and whose very existence endangered hers. Without him, no one would ever have displayed the least inclination to kill her.

  Which was the only reason he was letting her tag along with him. The knowledge was galling.

  But even if she did opt for the lodge, Summer thought, she had no money for food or a room. Bruised and unkempt as she was, her appearance would attract attention. She could ask for help—but what help could, or would, those innocents give her? They would certainly call the police.

  Summer shivered. She wasn’t quite sure whether she believed Frankenstein’s assertion that the police were the bad guys—but she wasn’t quite sure she didn’t, either.

  One thing was certain: She didn’t want to find out the hard way.

  Gritting her teeth against civilization’s devilish allure, Summer kept walking. Muffy whined. Trees whispered in the wind. Frogs croaked and crickets chirped. The cicadas hummed. A car horn honked in the distance. The smoke-borne smell of the steaks grew fainter. So did the hum of voices.

  Good-bye, civilization! Summer’s stomach growled a sad farewell. Muffy seemed to droop in her arms.

  She almost bumped into Frankenstein, who was waiting beneath a tree for her to catch up.

  “If you can’t keep up, you’re on your own,” he growled as she blinked at him in surprise, and turned and stalked away again. Scowling at his retreating back, Summer followed wearily.

  Soon there was no trail. Instead he forged his own path through the undergrowth. In the gloom Summer stumbled over rocks and tree roots she couldn’t see. The pace he set was killing. As the lodge receded to nothing more than a fond memory, Summer grew increasingly afraid to let Frankenstein out of her sight.

  It would be just her luck to lose him far from the succoring lodge.

  “Slow down,” she gasped at his back after a while.

  He kept walking.

  “I can’t keep going at this pace.”

  He kept walking.

  “I’m starving.”

  He kept walking.

  “Can’t we at least take a break? It’s the middle of the night.”

  He kept walking.

  “Asshole,” Summer muttered under her breath, and kept walking too.

  The wind moaned through the trees. A loud crack somewhere nearby was followed by a crash and a resounding thud.

  Summer shot forward like a rabbit flushed by a hound and grabbed Frankenstein’s arm.

  “What’s the matter with you now?” He sounded grumpy as ever.

  “What was that?” She was too apprehensive to care.

  “What?”

  “That sound.”

  “A falling branch. What did you think it was?” His face was in shadow as he glanced down at her. Feeling foolish, Summer dropped his arm.

  “I don’t know. A bear, maybe. A hungry bear, wanting Muffy and me for dinner.”

  He grunted derisively, muttered something under his breath that sounded like “I should get so lucky,” and started walking again.

  Summer stared after him, affronted. He was almost out of sight when she hurried to catch up. She vowed that she’d let herself be eaten by a dozen bears before she spoke to him again.

  In unfriendly silence they waded through streams, climbed over downed trees, and stomped through clearings. Summer tripped on fallen limbs and got snared by brambles, and kept walking. The night smelled of damp leaves, horse manure, and, more faintly, flowers. Delphiniums? one part of her mind wondered abstractedly. Or maybe lily of the valley? There was definitely a hint of honeysuckle.

  Muffy’s weight dragged on her arms, making her back and shoulders ache. Several times she set the dog down and moved off, only to have to return for her when Muffy adamantly refused to budge.

  “I ought to leave you,” she muttered the third or fourth time this happened.

  Securely cradled in warm arms once again, Muffy licked Summer’s chin.

  What time was it? Summer wondered. Midnight? One or two a.m.? Was Frankenstein going to walk all blasted night?

  She had to pee. She was afraid if she stopped for long enough to relieve herself, Frankenstein would disappear. She was going to have to break down and call to him—but she wasn’t sure she had enough wind left.

  With a yap Muffy leaped from her arms and took off through the trees.

  It was so unexpected that Summer could only gape after her.

  Up ahead, Frankenstein just kept walking.

  “Hey!” she called. Then, more loudly, “Yo, Frankenstein!”

  He stopped, looked around. She beckoned wildly, though she wasn’t sure that, dark as it was, he could see. Apparently he could, or at least he got the gist of her urgent gesture. He retraced his steps.

  “What now?” He sounded positively poisonous.

  “Muffy took off.”

  “What?”

  Summer repeated herself, pointing in the general direction in which Muffy had disappeared. He swore.

  “We’ve got to get her back. Just like the car: they find her, they find us. They couldn’t possibly not identify her. She’s so ridiculous-looking, she’s got to be one of a kind.”

  “She is not ridiculous-looking!” Tired as she was, Summer managed a spurt of indignation on Muffy’s behalf.

  “Just help me find the damned dog, okay?”

  But Muffy was nowhere in sight.

  They split up, beating through the trees on a vaguely parallel course, calling softly for Muffy.

  Their only answer was the sudden hoot and rushing flight of an owl overhead. Apparently they had disturbed its hunting. When it was no longer within sight or sound, Summer got up from the crouch into which she had dropped at the owl’s advent and started walking again. With every other step she glanced cautiously upward and all around. Who knew what other creatures might be lurking nearby?

  Summer smelled it first—smoke. She slid across to Frankenstein, who had paused. He smelled it, too. Together they advanced through the woods in the direction of the aroma, cautiously. If it had attracted them, perhaps it had attracted Muffy.

  Through the trees they saw the outline of half a dozen tents, silhouetted by a roaring fire. Three men and a flock of youngsters in uniforms sat around the campsite. One of the men was talking. Whatever he was saying had the children transfixed.

  Boy Scouts on a camp-out, probably swapping ghost stories. Summer recognized the uniforms and smiled.

  They were also roasting hot dogs and marshmallows on sticks over the fire.

  As Summer realized that, her stomach gave a mighty growl.

  “Hey, look! Something’s stealing our things!”

  “It’s a coon!”

  “It’s a possum!”

  “It’s a bear!”

  “Grab the crossbow!”

  “Crossbow, hell! Grab the rifle!”

  To a man, the Boy Scouts and their leaders leaped to their feet and dashed toward where Summer and Frankenstein watched them through the trees. Just ahead of the pack streaked a small, furr
y creature that looked for all the world like a diminutive Cousin Itt. A white plastic grocery bag bounced along the ground beside it. The handles were clutched in its mouth.

  21

  Frankenstein snatched up Muffy and the bag, and ran. Summer ran, too. With a tribe of whooping Boy Scouts in hot pursuit, they crashed through the forest in great leaping bounds. Foot snagged by a wayward vine, Summer went down. To her surprise, Frankenstein came back for her. Grabbing her hand, he hauled her to her feet and dragged her along after him.

  Gradually the sounds of pursuit died away.

  Summer developed a stitch in her side. Pulling her hand from Frankenstein’s, she slowed to a walk, pressing her hand to her side, and finally stopped altogether.

  “I’m not taking another step.” She spoke with finality. It was an effort to breathe.

  “You’re not very athletic, are you?” he said disapprovingly, turning to frown down at her.

  “No, I’m not. If you’d wanted Jackie Joyner-Kersee, you should have kidnapped her. I’m sure she would have been delighted.”

  “You know, you’re a real pain in the butt.”

  “You’re not exactly a little ray of sunshine yourself, Mr. Macho Man,” Summer snapped back, glaring up at him from her bent-over position.

  To Summer’s surprise, he grinned. It was the first smile she had seen on his face in hours.

  “Slumped over like that, you look kinda like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

  “Then we make a fine pair of monsters, don’t we, Frankenstein?”

  He laughed. Summer eyed him less than fondly. While she carried nothing, he was loaded down with gear. The gym bag was slung over his right shoulder, and the tire iron and grocery bag dangled from his right hand. Muffy was tucked under his left arm like a football. Muffy alone weighed a ton, Summer knew. And the blasted man wasn’t even breathing hard.