It feels like slow motion when I replay it in my mind. Marcus jumps and lands directly on the moss. His foot glides off and the rapids wash him away.
“Marcus!” I scream. But there is no reply. He is spiraling down the river, soon to be out of sight, and I snap into action, knowing I must hurry. Without a second thought I jump to the next stone, taking care not to land on the moss. Then I take another step and jump to the final stone before a small leap to the shore.
I am running. No, sprinting. Just as I did when I heard the water earlier. But I’ve lost sight of Marcus. I keep running at full pace, screaming his name, turning my head occasionally to make sure I don’t run into any trees or trip on any stones.
I don’t know how far I have run, but what I see ahead terrifies me. The river and the land seem to come to an abrupt end, with only the hazy grey sky in the distance. I creep up to the edge, slowly now, and peer over the cliff. A waterfall plummets the length of an eight-story building and ends in a calm, quiet stream. The realization hits me that I may have lost Marcus already to a violent, watery grave. I scan the stream below, but I don’t see his lifeless body anywhere.
With a glimmer of hope, I turn back to the rushing rapids. That’s when I spot him. Dangling under a fallen tree limb, wedged between two large stones. He looks conscious, but barely hanging on. Even if he had shouted for me, the crashing of the waterfall would have muted him.
I scan the area, searching for a way to help him. Marcus is surrounded by a small grove of trees and undergrowth lining the river. There is really no easy way to reach him. By the look of his limp body I don’t have much time to spare, so I push my way through a tangled web of twisted branches and thorns to reach the riverbank. The thorns slice my arms and legs, but my determination shields me from the pain. Marcus saved my life twice today. It’s time for me to repay the debt. I raise my hands to shield my face from the thorns. I already have that nasty scar on my face and don’t want to open it up again.
Finally I arrive at a tree that has snapped low in the trunk, still held together by a strong, flexible strip of bark. The fallen end is all that is keeping Marcus alive for the moment. The only way I can reach him safely is to climb out on the fallen tree. I’ve crossed streams before on fallen trees and limbs. I’m quite good at it actually. Once, when I was about twelve, I crossed a ten-foot wide creek blindfolded on a six inch diameter fallen tree, on a dare of course. But this is different. I hesitate, because the tree has rotted and looks very unstable. But left with no other choice, I lift myself up and straddle the tree.
The frustration of having to move so slowly when time is so precious is overwhelming. But I must not move too fast or I will risk breaking the fragile wood beneath me. As I inch closer I see that Marcus is beginning to lose his grip. His body is weak and his raw fingers strain to hold on to the tree. I’ve got to move faster. With every shuffle I hear the crackling of fibers breaking in the tree beneath me. I lean forward to lie on my stomach, distributing my weight more evenly over the tree, and manage to move a little more quickly, slithering down towards Marcus.
One last slide on my belly and I’ve reached him, and with no time to spare. Pressing my weight into the large stone the tree is leaning on, I grab his arm and pull with every last ounce of my body. I don’t know where it comes from, but I feel this intense strength flowing from within me. Marcus flips his body over and makes a feeble effort to pull his body up onto the rock. But he is too weak, and I have to find the strength to pull harder.
Once his shoulders are above the stone, I grip Marcus under his arms, press my feet into the stone, and pull backward with the entire weight of my body. He slides up and then I grasp the waist of his pants, hauling him up further. Finally, I’ve managed to pull his body onto the rock, his weight being the only thing keeping me from falling backward into the raging rapids. There’s not enough room for the both of us on the stone, so I climb back on to the fallen tree. Marcus is weary, but alert.
As my body relaxes my muscles begin to ache. Sharp, burning sensations on my forearms and calves remind me of all the thorns I pushed through to get here--and that I will have to endure that torture again. I realize the longer I sit here, the more it is going to hurt when I really start moving. I hate to push Marcus, as weak as he is, but we need to move on.
“Marcus,” I shout over the turbulent currents, “do you think you can make it across this tree?” He looks up at me and pushes himself up to his knees on the stone.
“Yeah, I think I can manage,” he says, breathlessly.
“Be careful. It’s not very strong. Wait until I’ve crossed before you get on,” I shout.
He nods in reply.
With care, I twist around and stretch my body across the tree on my belly. I slowly slide my body, inch by inch, back up toward the trunk. Relieved to be on dry land again, I get off and turn to find that Marcus is already halfway up the tree. My body tenses when I hear the sound of a thousand tiny snaps. The tree is about to break, but he keeps moving. The way he glides up the tree on his belly is breathtakingly graceful and snakelike. Beautiful. I only realize I’ve been holding my breath when he reaches the thorny stump and collapses on the ground. Finally, we can both relax. Or so I thought. I was about to collapse on the ground next to Marcus when I’m startled a sharp POW and feel the path of a bullet graze my left arm.
Chapter 5
With no time to find a safe way out of the tangled nest of leafless tree branches and thorny bushes, we dive right through. Marcus seems to have found his second wind and shoves me forward. Being shot at does that to you. When we emerge from the dense cavern of brush, I look back to see those three crazy mountain men upstream coming towards us, aiming their rifles.
Marcus pulls my arm but I resist. “We can’t go that way!” I say, remembering the crashing waterfall.
“We’ve got no choice!” he shouts at me. Another bullet whizzes by, alarming me into submission. I go with him, but stop short of the ledge and take another peek down. It’s so steep. I wouldn’t say I’m afraid of heights, but, then again, I’ve never stood at the threshold of a cliff, preparing to jump. I’m not even sure if we would survive the fall. And if so, what kinds of injuries we might sustain. Marcus is still holding on to my arm when I hear another gunshot, this time much closer. Marcus pulls me again and I jump without hesitation.
I’ve heard that the feeling of freefall is terrifying, yet exhilarating. I guess that’s why people enjoy the thrill of skydiving. But freefall with the weight of water pushing you down is just plain terrifying. It happens so fast I don’t even have time to suck in enough air before the force of the water pushes me down below the surface. I try to rise to the top, again, and again. But the pressure of the falls is too powerful and creates an invisible barrier that traps me underwater. Panicking is making this dire situation worse. Just as I am about to give up, somewhere between consciousness and sleep, something clicks in my brain and I come to my senses. My arms paddle away from the falls, rather than straight up. I lift my head above the water, gulping down air and wheezing boorishly like an injured camel. I promptly become aware of my body and the fact that I’m uninjured, as far as I know. Marcus, who is about ten feet away, isn’t so lucky. He splashes, struggling to stay afloat, and moans in agony. A sound I have only heard on TV news reports when they show the aftermath of bombings.
I have no time to waste. I swim over to Marcus, but my movements seem like a slow motion replay. I never was a great swimmer, although I always manage to keep myself afloat. Grasping his body, I take a quick glance up at the cliff above. The drop doesn’t look so intimidating from this angle. Perhaps, that’s because we’re at the bottom looking up, rather than the other way around.
I can’t rely on my sense of hearing to know where the mountain men are because the crashing waterfall is so loud I can barely hear myself think. I look around to find a place to hide, but I don’t think I can fool those guys twice with my fake drowning.
I drag Marcus out of the water
and he manages to get on his feet. As I pull him out, there is a small pool of red-tinted water left behind in the stream. Marcus must have been shot, but there’s no time to stop and examine his injuries now. I hoist his arm over my shoulder, dragging him forward into a grove of prickly evergreens as he tries hobble away from the stream. I hear them now. Gunshots. I don’t think they saw us though, because when I look back toward the stream I see tiny splashes of water hopping up and rippling out. They must think Marcus and I are playing dead again under water. For some reason, that provides little relief. They’ll know we escaped again and come looking for us.
Marcus struggles to keep up, hissing in pain with every step, but I’ve got to keep us moving. We’re not in the clear yet.
We probably travel about a mile beyond the stream when Marcus collapses, unable to take another step. He hasn’t said a word since the waterfall, except for some incomprehensible groans. He looks at me--eyes glistening with moisture, skin pale and ashen, barely able to keep his head up--and mumbles something I just can’t make out.
I shake my head, “I’m sorry, Marcus. I don’t understand.” That’s when I see it--the source of blood that was dissipating through the water. The right pant leg of his jeans is stained red with blood. It doesn’t look too bad, but then I think about how much blood the water must have washed away.
“Go,” he says, waving his hand.
I could go. Save myself. Perhaps escape and bring back help. The thought flutters into my head for a split second before it vanquishes in a tiny puff of smoke. I won’t leave him here alone. Not after the wild adventure we’ve been through today. A year ago I might have done that. I’ve never been the thrill-seeking type. In fact I tend to run away from conflict and danger. I’ve never even ridden a roller coaster because I’m such a wimp. But things are different now. How could I leave him here to die when he’s the only reason I’m still alive?
“No,” I say. “We’ll make camp here for the night. We’ve gone far enough.” I look around, trying to determine the position of the sun. The forest is too dense to tell, but the sun is no longer high in the sky. I’m sure it’s getting close to dusk. “They won’t find us before sunset, anyway. And they won’t pursue us in the dark.”
I help Marcus lie back against the base of a large spruce and examine the bloody hole in his jeans. Then it hits me like a semi, hauling ass down the I-97. That last tug at my arm, the one that plunged us over the falls. The gunshot. He didn’t pull me over the edge intentionally. He was shot in the leg and fell. I guess it’s a good thing I was ready to jump anyway.
I don’t know much about treating wounds, but the sight of blood doesn’t bother me as it does some people. I had a best friend in middle school, Kendra, who would faint at the sight of a nosebleed. Not me. My only fear in life, true fear, is fire. Not just any fire. I can handle a bonfire, or flaming fireplaces. But blazing, raging, out of control fires have plagued my nightmares since I was a child. Being trapped in a burning building, or in an underground corridor, with no way out. Those are the most common scenarios, but there are others. It’s always this collaboration of pyrophobia with claustrophobia. I don’t really know how it started. I’ve just always had this innate fear that I can’t seem to shake away. But blood? No big deal.
“I need to take your jeans off to see,” I say.
Marcus nods and unbuttons his jeans, while I remove his shoes. Since they are still wet, the fabric clings to his skin and the friction makes them difficult to slide off. After much tugging, I shimmy them off and drape them over a tree limb to dry. Thank goodness I’m so focused on his wound, otherwise I’d be tempted to sneak a peak at his boxers and imagine what lies underneath.
From what I can see, the wound looks much worse than it really is, and the only real danger to Marcus is blood loss. The bullet went all the way through his leg and out the other side, missing the bone completely. Good, because I was not looking forward to digging into the gaping wound to find a bullet. It will need to be stitched up, though, before he loses any more blood. That tin of first aid supplies has definitely come in handy.
“How does it look?” asks Marcus, nervously watching me inspect the wound.
“It’s not that bad,” I tell him. “Of course I’m not a doctor. I don’t think it hit the bone. I will need to sew it up. It’s going to hurt like hell so try not to yell.”
Marcus searches the ground around him with his hands. I’m not exactly sure what he is looking for and then he finds it. He grasps a tree branch and breaks off a short, fat chunk. Then he places it in his mouth, bites down, and nods at me to continue.
I open the tin and pull out the needle and thread. There’s only a short length of thread so I extend it to estimate how much I’ll need. I’m sure I’ll use the entire length, but I use my teeth to break it in half – one for the entry wound and one for the exit wound. It takes a few tries to thread the needle, but eventually I guide it into the eye and pull it through.
Marcus bites down as I insert the needle into his flesh. The tip of the needle is exceptionally dull, and the skin on Marcus’s thigh is firm and resistant, so I have to push and wriggle it through, like trying to cut a ribeye with a butter knife, no doubt causing more pain than necessary. Before now, he didn’t strike me as someone who is that sensitive to pain, but I can’t even imagine what he is feeling right now. The skin on his knuckles, already ashen, has turned a ghostly shade of white, and the veins in his neck are protruding as his struggles to resist the urge to lash out. When I finish tying off the thread, I apply the antibiotic ointment and cover the wound with a bandage, which only really covers half of it. Carefully, I help turn Marcus over to lie on his stomach so I can tend to the entry wound. He buries his face in the ground, covering the sides with his arms, which helps to muffle the curses he shouts while I do my work. He lies limply and sighs with relief when I announce my completion.
Marcus is brutally exhausted and looks like he’s about to fall asleep, so I tell him to stay put and rest while I go look for something to feed us.
* * *
Once I’m out of sight from Marcus, I strip down to nothing but my underwear. My clothes are damp and sticky and I feel gross. But I don’t want to take them off in front of Marcus. We’ve only just met and I have to maintain some dignity out here. Plus, if Glenn ever found out…well, I don’t want to think about that.
Since the fabric is lightweight, my clothes don’t take long to dry and I’ve managed to find some food while waiting.
It’s almost nightfall when I return. Marcus is alert now, scraping the bark off a tree limb with a pocketknife and tapering it to look like a primitive spear. His shirt and socks are draped over a bush and he is down to only his boxers. As awkward as his exposed, and extremely attractive, body makes me feel, I try to remain nonchalant.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, fixating on his eyes to keep my own from traveling south.
“I’ve seen better days,” he replies. He can’t seem to look me in the eyes. I sense that he is still in a lot of pain and he’s trying to mask it. “Find something to eat?”
I release the bottom of my shirt, which I had gathered in my hand to create a sack, and allow a pile of nuts, berries, and greens to fall before him on the ground.
“Great. All we need is a nutcracker,” he says facetiously. “Can you forage one of those?”
“No,” I respond, “but your knife should work. And I have, um, what was his name?” I pull the knife out of my pack and study it.
“Clover,” says Marcus.
“Right, I have Clover’s knife,” I finish.
We use the knives to pry open the nuts and eat in silence. I’m not sure what to make of Marcus’s distance. I’m convinced it’s just the aching wound keeping him distracted. But some part of me, deep in the pit of my gut, senses there’s more to it. That he won’t look me in the eyes, it’s as if he knows something but can’t, or won’t, let me in. It’s eating at me, but we’ve been through so much today, and we still don’t
really know each other. I can’t bring myself to question him. I decide to let it go. I’m too tired to talk anyway.
I give Marcus the canteen first, since I can walk to get more water anyway. He only takes a few small sips before giving it back.
“Do you still have that ointment?” asks Marcus.
“Yeah, it’s right here,” I say. “Why, do you need more?”
“No. You do.” I look down and realize I’m covered with scratches from the thorns and shrapnel from the explosion. Some are so deep, red with inflammation, I’m surprised I haven’t noticed the pain radiating from them before now.
“Here, let me,” Marcus offers. I scoot up to his side, facing him and hand him the ointment. “Don’t use too much,” I say. “You’ll probably need more in the morning.” He nods and begins to gently dab the deep wounds on my arm, ignoring the smaller, superficial scratches. I’m amazed at how tender his touch is. His hands are so large and rough, as a working man’s should be. But as he glides the ointment over my skin it sends chills up my spine, the way I felt the first time Glenn cradled my hands in his.
Glenn, my boyfriend. I keep reminding myself that he is waiting for me. Yet I can’t deny my attraction to Marcus. The way his rusty hair falls over his eyes, those penetrating oceanic eyes, the tenderness of his touch. And this unwavering feeling that we’ve met before. No, that we knew each other before. My heart begins to flutter watching him stroke my arm and I grab the ointment from Marcus before the feeling takes control of me.
“I…I’ll finish my legs,” I stutter.
“Are you sure?” he asks. I nod and turn away from him. Why am I feeling this way? I’m like a lovestruck teenager trying to hide my emotions for fear of being caught. It’s Glenn. That’s it. Glenn. I don’t know when I saw him last and being here with another man just reminds me of Glenn. I just have to get back to him. Then everything will be okay and life will go on as it should.
Fall of Venus Page 4