Faint of Heart

by Strand, Jeff

  Just a ladybug.

  Finally she had enough firewood to last through the night. Probably enough to last three nights, but she wasn't a camper and didn't know how quickly it would be used up. She sat back down on the log and gazed out at the pond.

  Under other circumstances, she might have appreciated its beauty. Sure, she would have spent more time being miserable because of the cold, but still, she would have enjoyed several relaxing minutes just looking at it. A place like this would be a wonderful field trip for her students.

  She needed to get the tent up, but she also needed a couple of minutes to soothe herself, collect her thoughts. If she was going to survive this, she had to be fully alert, but also calm and not overwhelmed with paranoia. She got up and began a leisurely walk along the edge of the pond.

  They were going to get her while she took her walk.

  No, they weren't. She needed this.

  She forced herself to breathe deeply, in and out, trying to make the bad thoughts disappear, if only for a few moments. Just look at the pond. Watch the small ripples in the clear water. See the--

  She slammed a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.

  The water was still clear in this part of the pond. Still calm. Still beautiful.

  But the rocks on the edge were covered with blood.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was a dull brown rather than a ghoulish red, but there was no mistaking the splashes of color for anything but blood. And there was a lot of it. It covered the rocks by her feet, but also the rocks for several feet around those.

  She knelt down and looked closely at the rocks, still biting back her scream. Yes, it was absurd to get so freaked out over this when she already knew that awful things had happened in this area, but this was proof. Maybe nobody was dead, but a lot of blood had been spilled.

  And there was a pair of dried red chunks, about the size of nickels, on one of the rocks.

  Of course, it could have been from an animal. Maybe Gary and his buddies had caught a fish and cleaned it here.

  Yeah, maybe they'd cleaned a fish and scattered its blood around, just for kicks. Sure.

  Though her stomach was churning, she leaned even closer to the rock with the dried flesh or whatever it was. There was a tiny piece of bone, barely more than a sliver, stuck to one of them.

  Then a metallic glint in the water caught her attention. She stared at the water for a moment, trying to pinpoint it, and saw something metal poking out from under some small rocks in the water. Trying to disturb the water as little as possible, she reached down to pick it up.

  As her hand touched the bottom some dirt swirled up into the water, clouding it momentarily and forcing her to keep her hand perfectly still in the cold water until it cleared up again.

  The glint was gone.

  She began running her hands over the pebbles, trying to catch another glimpse of it. It took her several attempts, waiting each time for the water to clear again, before she finally got a hold of it and pulled it out of the water.

  It was a tooth. A molar. Unquestionably human, unless somebody had decided to give their pet a metal filling.

  She had a vision of somebody's face being slammed against the rocks, then the man being dragged into the pond, bleeding all over the other rocks, and then butchered in the icy water.

  Absolutely sick to her stomach, Rebecca stood up and hurried back toward the campfire. She could imagine Alan gutting Scott or Doug like a fish, laughing and cracking jokes while he did it, probably asking Stephen if this one was big enough to keep.

  She wondered if pieces of Gary's friends were in that pond. Maybe a hand floating on the other side, or a foot waiting to get caught on a fisherman's hook.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. These were exactly the kind of thoughts she didn't need. She'd already known that bloody things had happened here. This didn't change anything. Her situation was no worse now than it was before. She needed to calm down and put up the tent.

  And, at the very least, be thankful that she knew Gary had never had a cavity in his life.

  * * *

  Rebecca had always been a strong believer in the power of humor. She rarely attempted to convey it to her students, because as fifth graders they found plenty enough to giggle about without her encouraging them. But she'd heard stories about people making miraculous health recoveries from simply watching comedy videos, essentially laughing themselves healthy, and she believed them

  While she still fully believed in the concept, apparently it took more than one's own bumbling slapstick antics trying to set up a tent for the healing power to work. Perhaps a cancer patient watching her would have received some benefit, but for herself there was nothing but frustration. Though the tent still had the instructions with it, this was a two-person job and definitely not a task for somebody who hadn't even slept in a tent since she was a little girl.

  Still, if she survived this and she got Gary back and the nightmares faded and she was released from the insane asylum, she'd recall her misadventures setting up the tent and laugh. She was Laurel and Hardy, trying to set up a tent. One of them, anyway, though if the stress continued at this level, pretty soon she'd have voices in her head and then she could play the roles of both of them. If nothing else, pretty soon she'd be doing the famous Stan Laurel whimpering.

  The tent pole she'd struggled to get into place toppled over, smacking her in the side of the head. Yep, she'd have plenty to laugh about after the bloodbath.

  * * *

  Finally the tent was up. It looked like crap, but she had no way of knowing that Gary's tent hadn't looked like crap, too. So, she had a tent and she had a fire. She was officially camping.

  She was terribly thirsty, and while she loathed the taste of beer, there was nothing else to drink. She wasn't about to drink from the pond again.

  She grabbed one of the fake-beers, sat by the fire, cracked it open, and guzzled a third of it in one swallow. It was awful, but she supposed that most of the world's population would be grateful for a cold fake-beer in this situation, so she decided to make the best of it. She finished off the beer, tossed the can in the fire, and prepared for her next task.

  Weapons.

  The kidnappers hadn't left Gary's pocketknife, which she was sure he'd brought along, so they weren't playing completely fair. Too bad this wasn't a board game where she could debate the rules. She'd gathered some fist-size rocks before she started setting up the tent, along with a pair of branches that were broken off to give them sharp tips, but now was the time to do some more elaborate preparation.

  She looked through her equipment. Tent spikes would have been helpful, but unfortunately they'd been plastic ones instead of metal, so she'd used them all for their intended purpose. Gary's tackle box was filled with hooks. Small ones, yes, but even a small hook could do some serious damage if it got you in the eye.

  She wished that she could set some sort of booby trap, but she didn't appear to have anything useful, and probably wouldn't know what to do with it if she had. The best idea she could come up with was to dig some small holes, cover them with paper plates or something, and hope that Alan or Stephen would step on one and trip. Pretty lame. Better to focus on sharpening sticks. It was slow going using a jagged rock rather than a knife, but at least it was working, more or less.

  She bound a few branches together with fishing line and then tied one of Gary's shirts around the top. If she heard anything suspicious, she'd douse the top with lighter fluid, jab it in the fire, and have herself a decent weapon. She was far from a hero, but she was sure going to put up a fight.

  Once she'd sharpened six branches into short spears, or the next best thing, she started on the hooks. Even the largest one was only about an inch long, but it would have to do. She took another one of Gary's shirts, one of his favorites that he shouldn't have brought on a camping trip anyway, and began to poke the hooks through it. Once she'd used up all twenty or so, she gave the shirt a test swing. A couple of the hooks fell o
ff, but regardless, if that thing hit somebody in the face they'd probably reconsider kidnapping as an occupation.

  So, she had sharpened sticks, rocks, a hook-ridden shirt, a torch, and lots of beer can projectiles. If she stayed alert and didn't freeze with terror at the first sign of danger, she might just make it through the night alive.

  She surveyed the area, but couldn't think of anything else that might be helpful to prepare. At this point, her best bet was to sit quietly, wait, and listen.

  Rebecca sat down on the log, balancing a spear on her lap while she held her hands out to warm them by the fire. It was almost three o'clock, so she had a couple more hours until sunset. She had a terrible headache, but she suspected it might be due to hunger, since after all this work she should be famished, even if she felt too queasy to actually experience the hunger urges. Hungry or not, she needed to eat and keep her energy level up, so she grabbed a couple of hot dogs and the bag of buns out of the cooler, jabbed one on a stick, and began to roast it in the fire.

  When it was nicely burnt, she slapped it into the bun and gobbled it down. She finished off a second one in record time, then went back to retrieve a third, along with the potato chips. Queasy or not, campfire roasted hot dogs were delicious.

  After she'd eaten her fill, she put the hot dog buns and the chips away, and sat back down to wait. She noted with mild amusement that she was finally getting to sit around and do nothing, just like she'd wanted, and without the guilt of not being a productive citizen.

  She continued to sit as time passed and the sun lowered on the horizon. It was getting harder to keep an eye on the woods now. Somebody could sneak almost right up to the edge and she probably wouldn't notice them.

  She got up and walked around the campfire every once in a while to stretch her legs, but otherwise remained in place, listening and waiting.

  And then it was dark, and she couldn't see anything beyond a few feet of the campfire without using Gary's flashlight, and the noises from the woods didn't sound like they'd ever stop.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Even without the threat of human attack, sitting outdoors at night all by herself would have been a frightening experience.

  She knew deep inside that there wasn't much out there to harm her. If a grizzly bear showed up, she'd have a definite problem, and timber wolves wouldn't exactly be pleasant visitors, but the chances of being bothered by one of those were pretty remote. But most of the noises from the woods, the rustling in the trees and on the ground, were harmless. Squirrels. Rabbits. Ptarmigan. Maybe even a moose, deer, or caribou. Nothing that would hurt her. It wasn't like Alaska had scorpions or poisonous snakes slithering around.

  But what about ghosts and goblins?

  She was a fully grown, mature woman, and she knew that there were no such things. But sitting out there, by the light of the fire, it was pretty easy to convince herself that they might exist. That a ghost might start moaning her name.

  Rebeccaaaaaaaaaaa...

  I see you...

  I'm coming to get you...

  The rustling noises from the woods continued.

  I'm right behind you, Rebecca...

  Too bad her older brother Randy wasn't here. He would've had himself a great time, making ghost noises in the night, grabbing her arm with a loud "Boo!" He'd probably even wave the shirt with the hooks in it too close to her face, just to make her scream.

  Well, he would have, back when they were seven and nine. Not so much now.

  God, she was scared.

  She remembered all the ghost stories Randy had told her when she was younger. Most of them were profoundly stupid, involving creatures that were as likely to pee on you as devour you, but no matter how absurd the stories became, Becky always listened in wide-eyed terror. She always had nightmares. She'd looked back on them and laughed, but as a child the dreaded Snot Beast was something to be feared as much as a shark or a cannibal. I'm looking at you now, Rebecca!

  She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. She had problems enough at the moment without adding fear of ghosts to the roster, thank you very much.

  Something rustled in the woods. Something big.

  Rebecca immediately grabbed one of the spears and held it in both hands, braced for action.

  Silence.

  More rustling, something smaller this time, up in the trees. Nothing human.

  She stared at the spot where she'd heard the rustling, frantically searching for any sign of movement, any sign that Alan or Stephen were waiting out there, even though it was too dark to even see the trees.

  Nothing.

  She picked up the flashlight, turned it on, and shone it in that direction. The beam just barely reached the trees, and it didn't reveal anything.

  Even so, as long as she didn't fall asleep they'd have a pretty difficult time surprising her. She'd see them in plenty of time before they reached the campfire. That didn't mean she'd be able to keep herself alive, but at least the element of surprise wouldn't be on their side.

  Unless they had a gun. But she didn't think they'd go to all this trouble simply to shoot her.

  Of course, if they decided that this whole plan was too risky, they'd want to get rid of her, wouldn't they?

  Well, she couldn't worry about what they might do if they decided to terminate the plan. It was bad enough to think that they were going to go through with it.

  Rebecca darted the flashlight beam around the area where she'd heard the loud rustling. No signs of movement. No more sounds.

  She held the flashlight in place for a full five minutes, then shut it off and set it back down on the ground. She kept the spear in her hands. Someone might still be out there, but as long as it wasn't a ninja they couldn't move completely silently. She might have a goofed-up brain, but she had perfect vision and hearing, and nobody was going to come out of those woods without her knowing about it.

  After another fifteen minutes she forced herself to relax. A bit. She was exhausting herself just by being so tense. She did some breathing exercises and tried to think about happy times she and Gary had shared.

  Like meeting in the department store as they passed on opposite escalators, when he got so distracted seeing her for the first time that he forgot to step off at the bottom and landed on his face.

  Like their honeymoon in Europe, where they'd intended to see all of the amazing sights and take in the foreign culture but somehow never quite got around to it.

  Like the day she'd been offered a permanent teaching job instead of just being a substitute, and to celebrate they'd gone to a fondue restaurant. For dessert they'd fed each other chocolate-dipped strawberries. It was still the best-tasting food she'd eaten in her life.

  Rebeccaaaaaaaaa, I'm breathing down your neck...

  "Goddamnit, stop it!" she shouted.

  Oh, wonderful. Now she was yelling at herself for hearing ghosts. The complete mental breakdown was well underway.

  She tried to think of other happy memories about her and Gary, but gave up when she couldn't stop envisioning Gary on a porch swing next to her, smiling cheerfully despite having been recently disemboweled.

  * * *

  Rebecca checked her watch. Just after two in the morning. Nothing had happened, and the strain was starting to get to her. She was utterly exhausted.

  Of course, she couldn't go to sleep. If she just climbed in the tent and called it quits for the night, the chances weren't very good that she'd ever wake up. Or if she did wake up, she'd wish she hadn't.

  But she was so, so tired. At least Gary, Doug, and Scott could have watched in shifts.

  Maybe the kidnappers were waiting for her to go to sleep before making their move. If so, they had a long wait. She wasn't going to sleep, no matter what. She'd once stayed up for three full days cramming for finals, and this was a hell of a lot more important than a history exam.

  Yeah, but she was younger then. And she hadn't spent much of the day lugging heavy bags through the woods. And she'd had about eighteen cup
s of coffee in her system. There was just no comparison.

  She'd had barely any sleep the previous night. If they did choose to attack now, she'd be pretty much worthless in a fight, probably falling asleep and landing right on an axe or something. But she had to stay awake. Encountering them while exhausted was still preferable to encountering them while unconscious.

  She forced herself to stay awake, and resumed her night of waiting.

  * * *

  Rebecca sat up with such a jolt that it almost hurt. Had she fallen asleep? For how long?

  She checked her watch. No, it was ten minutes until three. The fire was unchanged. If she'd fallen asleep, it had only been for a second.