“Who?” I asked. “What people?”
He glanced back at me. “Search and rescue. Or whoever it is that does that. They know we’re missing. We were supposed to be back last night.”
“But how will they know where to find us?”
“I don’t know. Don’t they just fly around in helicopters and look for people who get trapped or lost? I mean, Shelby’s been trying to get a second fire going in the gorge, out of the tree cover, so maybe they’ll see that. But didn’t Howe tell the ranger where we were? They know we’re here, right?”
I paused. “Yes, he told them where we were going.”
Clay shot me a lazy grin. “Well, then that’s good, right?”
“It would be if we were where we said we’d be.”
“What do you mean?”
“We said we’d be camping near the summit. In the meadow by the waterfall. If they look for us anywhere, that’s where they’re going to go.”
Clay was still confused. “You mean . . .”
“Yes,” Avery cut in tersely. “That’s exactly what he means. They’re going to be looking for us back where we just came from. Not where we actually are.”
40.
TOMÁS WAS THE first to greet us as we hobbled our way into the Preacher’s campsite. With the last of Maggie’s tartan blankets slung over his shoulders, he rose from his seat by the fire and hurried in our direction. Spotting his gaunt cheeks and dark owl eyes—Rose’s eyes—pricked with me a rush of despair.
Avery, Clay, and I had untethered ourselves prior to crossing the China Spring to avoid all three of us falling into the icy water. Veering from the others, I went to stand by the fire ring and its smoking ashes, where I dropped the sleeping bag and backpack I’d been carrying. Then I took in everything around me.
Familiarity came on fast: There was the tattered tent, windblown but still standing, the rickety card table, pulled beneath a tree and piled high with wood, and the row of canvas chairs, all damp with snow. I recognized everything and still my mouth soured at the sight.
“How’s Rose?” I asked Tomás, when I’d caught my breath.
He had eyes only for Clay. “She’s resting. Shel’s with her now.”
“But she’s okay?”
“No, she’s not okay.”
“But . . .”
Tomás scowled but seemed to understand that the urgency in my voice meant I needed affirmation that Rose was still alive. “She’s in pain,” he added. “A lot of pain. The pills are helping, but they’re not enough.”
“What can we do?”
“Get her the hell out of here.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Clay sighed. “Ben says search and rescue won’t look for us here.”
“Why’s that?”
“They think we’re up by the meadow.”
“Then we’ll find a way out on our own,” Avery said, and there was strength in her voice I’d never heard before. True authority. Decisiveness.
“Where’s Archie?” Tomás asked. “Isn’t he with you?”
No one answered.
“Come on,” he pressed. “What is it? Did he do something stupid?”
I swallowed before answering. “He’s still out there.”
“Out where?”
“On the mountain. Up near the peak. Last I saw him, we were past Grizzly Lake, over the waterfall. That was yesterday. The snow started while we were up there. We could barely move in that wind, but he wouldn’t come back with me. I guess . . . I guess he really wanted that money. Or something.”
Tomás blanched at this news. “You’re saying he’s lost? In the snow?”
“Yes.”
“By himself?”
I nodded.
“Is he alive?”
As always, I went for hope, not truth. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? You mean he could be—”
“Yes.”
“Oh, shit. Shit.”
Things got weird at this point. Tomás, who had reason to hate Archie more than any of us, seemed to be on the verge of hyperventilating or passing out. He moaned and staggered back, grabbing for his chest like he was having a coronary. Clay, who gave me a dirty look like I had something to do with it, ended up taking Tomás by the arm and dragging him into the woods, beneath the tree cover.
“What was that about?” Avery asked when they were gone. She was crouched on the ground, starting to organize the items we’d brought back, laying them out in the snow. Her dark hair was pulled back, up off her neck, and the gold chain of her fox necklace glinted in the light, an alluring sight against her warm brown skin. A part of me longed to touch her, to run my fingers along the nape of her neck. But I didn’t.
“I don’t know,” I said softly.
“And you?” She twisted her head to look up at me. “You’re doing okay? You scared us, you know.”
My cheeks burned. “I’m okay. But I don’t know what would’ve happened if you guys hadn’t shown up, Ave. Grateful doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“You would’ve been fine.”
“You think?”
“I know.” She held up her camera. “Thanks for finding this, by the way.”
“No problem,” I said. Then: “Hey, did the Preacher really sit for you by the river?”
She nodded. “He knew a lot about photography.”
“Don’t you think that’s strange, though? That he’d let you do that? I mean, he’s a fugitive.”
Avery shrugged. “I don’t think it’s strange. It’s not like I would’ve taken the photos to the cops or anything—I didn’t know who he was then. And unlike you, he liked having his picture taken.”
I snorted. “The narcissistic bank robber.”
She reached for my hand, a point of connection. “Most people want to be remembered, Ben.”
“Hey, where’s Abel?” I pulled my hand back and turned away from her. It dawned on me that he was no longer tied to the tree by the card table. Considering the extent of his injuries, I assumed he hadn’t walked off under his own power to race Archie up the mountain or to try to slip out of the country unnoticed. It was possible he’d been sandbagging so that he could make a run for it, but the sound I’d heard when Archie struck him with the gun wasn’t anything that could be faked. But maybe he’d been moved somewhere due to his injuries. That was a thought that turned my insides weak. The idea he might be in the tent with Rose set off all sorts of alarm bells.
“He’s dead,” Avery said, effectively ending that line of thought. “He died during the night. He froze.”
“Oh,” I said.
And that was that.
—
Entering the tent, I found Shelby holding Rose in her arms. A gamey reek hung in the frigid air and every surface I touched felt grimy, filthy even, as I crawled toward where they lay huddled beneath a pile of blankets, Shelby’s chin rested on Rose’s head, her chest against her back. She also had the small Bible gripped in one hand, as she read by lantern light, whispering the words aloud.
“Hey,” I said.
“Ben.” Shelby pushed up on her elbow, matted hair falling past her shoulders. “You’re here.”
“Yeah.”
“We’re stuck, you know. We can’t get out.”
“I know. You should get some food, though. We brought some back.”
She nodded, setting the Bible down before zipping her hoodie, and grabbing for her shoes. When she’d left, I took her place to lay beside Rose. Even with the lantern, it was hard to see much beyond shadows, and I put my ear to her heart to be lulled by its tender throb. I inhaled her scent, mostly sweat and pain, then kissed her cheek.
“Ben,” she whispered, her lips sticky and pale. “I was worried about you. I didn’t know if you were coming b
ack. I didn’t know if you’d be okay in the storm.”
“I’m sorry I left.”
“I told you to go.”
“How’s your side? How’re you feeling?”
“Not good,” she said.
“It hurts?”
“Everything hurts.”
“Can I see?”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” I brought the lantern closer and lifted the blankets. Everything about her was small, knotted tight. Rose had one hip twisted over the other, and she winced as I pushed her shirt up.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded.
I ran the light across her skin. Lines of scabbed welts dotted her torso, covered the soft folds of her belly. I reached to touch one. “What are these?”
“Bug bites. Shel thinks there’re bedbugs in here. They itch like crazy.”
“Oh, Rose.” My heart broke to hear this, and no, I don’t know why my girlfriend being bitten by bedbugs was any more tragic than her getting shot in the stomach. But it was. Or maybe what was most tragic was that she was going to have to stay in those bug-infested blankets until help came. I had no way of making her current situation better. And her situation, as it was, really sucked.
Bringing the lantern closer, I inspected the front side of her wound first. The dressing that had been used made my mouth go watery. Tomás and Shelby must’ve done it; it was fresh still, not yet soaked with blood, but a torn piece of a cotton T-shirt was wadded against Rose’s skin, held in place by duct tape. The shirt looked like it was the cleanest they could have found, but that wasn’t saying much. I hesitated, not wanting to hurt her by messing with it.
“Go on,” she said weakly. “Tell me how it’s doing.”
With the edge of my thumb, I worried the tape back, peeling it off with as much care as I could before lifting the T-shirt. I bit down on my lip. The entry wound was smaller than I would’ve thought, a neat hole crusted with dried blood and a bit of purple bruising around the edges. The area was puffy, too, but not alarmingly so. It was as if Rose’s own softness had expanded to keep her whole.
“How’s it look?” she asked.
“Pretty good, considering.”
“The other side hurts more.” She rolled forward while I lifted her shirt up in the back, and this time I had to use both hands to pull off the tape. I inhaled sharply. It wasn’t at all what I expected—or hoped—to find. Just the opposite. The exit wound wasn’t neat or tidy; it was horrible, a brutal mess of flesh resembling nothing more than ground meat. Worse still, the swelling on that side wasn’t just puffy, but red, inflamed. Oozy, too. I cupped my hand against the small of her back, close to the wound, and felt the heat pulsing from within. Rose whimpered. I pulled her shirt down.
My heart was pounding.
“Ben?” she said.
“Huh?”
“How’s Archie? Did he come back with you?”
I hesitated. “No.”
“Where is he?”
“You really want to know?”
“Yes,” she said.
So I told her the truth. I owed her that. I’m not sure what I expected after her brother’s reaction. Grief, perhaps. Or sorrow. Maybe even guilt.
But I was a poor predictor of emotions. Because when I told Rose about how Archie had chosen to face certain death walking into a blizzard rather than give up his search for a fortune that was never his to begin with, she didn’t shed a tear. She didn’t even look sad—walking the walk, I suppose, on her assertion that death wasn’t something to feel all that terrible about.
“I don’t think he could’ve survived out there in the snow. Not overnight,” I said, wanting her to know for sure how final his decision had been.
“But he was still looking for the money, wasn’t he? He never gave up?”
“No, he never gave up.”
Rose, ill as she was, remained content at my reassurance. Not happy or joyful, but there was satisfaction in her eyes, a certain strength against the pain. I wanted to ask why, what it was she knew about Archie that made her feel that way. And I also wanted to ask why she’d confided in him—but not me—about our relationship.
But I didn’t.
Instead I pressed my lips together and set to work cleaning and changing her wounds with the first aid kit I’d brought down from the meadow. Whatever had been used already had set loose an infection inside of Rose, all that heat and ooze. Holding the bottle of antiseptic over her back, I knew it would sting, worse than when I’d cleaned her finger, and I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to pour it on her and be the one to hurt her. But I had no choice. So rather than telling her what I was going to do, I just dumped it on her ruined flesh as fast as I could.
Rose shrieked and leapt, and the wounded look she gave me wasn’t one of betrayal but disbelief. I didn’t stop, though, not even when tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Not even when she shrieked again as I ripped off the remaining duct tape and hurried to pack the wounds with fresh gauze and ointment. I said nothing to acknowledge the pain I was causing her, because it was for her own good and because I didn’t want to worry her about it ahead of time.
When I was finished, she lay back to stare up at the ceiling and refused to look at me. Rose’s tears continued to fall, hot and silent, and that was the moment I should’ve apologized—not for doing what needed to be done, but for being so cowardly about it. For letting fear guide my actions over love. But I didn’t. I didn’t say a word to comfort her or reassure her or let her know my love was unconditional, no matter what she’d done or why. I said nothing. And looking back, if there’s one thing I truly am sorry for, well then, I guess that would be it.
41.
SHELBY ACCOSTED ME the minute I stepped out of the tent, turning sick and dizzy in the chilled air. Flurries were coming down again. Light ones, but still.
“Can we talk?” she asked me.
“I’m getting Rose something to eat.”
“This is about Rose.” She waved me with her, walking farther into the forest, her shoes crunching on snow. I followed as best I could, the blond bounce of her hair, but not only were Shelby’s legs somehow longer than mine, my joints had stiffened up while I’d been in the tent and my shoulder ached with every motion. My steps were halting, fawn weak and wobbly.
“Hey, slow down.” I gasped.
A frown etched Shelby’s face as she looked back at me.
“Sorry,” I said. “My shoulder’s busted. I don’t feel too good.”
She nodded and turned around. Waited for me to prop myself against a tree and catch my breath. “Well, I wanted to show you this.”
“Show me what?”
Shelby pulled the bottle of Maggie’s Percocet from her windbreaker pocket. Held it in her scratched-up hands.
I furrowed my brow. “Why do you have those? Isn’t Rose taking them?”
“Yeah, she is.”
“They help with her pain, right? She’s in a lot of pain.”
“They do help. But . . .”
“But what?”
“The bottle says to take one or two every six to eight hours.”
“Right.”
Shelby gave me a pointed look. “This morning she took four.”
“All at once?”
She nodded. “I left the bottle in there with her after I’d already given her one. There were twelve more at that point. I know that. I was counting to see how many days they’d last, just in case we’re stuck here for a while. Then Tomás started calling for me because he needed help keeping the fire going while trying to dry all those wet clothes. He’s not very organized, by the way. Anyway, when I went back in she’d passed out with the bottle in her hand so I counted again. There were only nine.”
“But she’s okay? It was just an accident?”
Shelby lic
ked her chapped lips. “I don’t know what it was. I just know she’s really hurting. Worse than she’ll say. But I’ve been holding on to the pills ever since. Unless you want to.”
“Sure.” I took them from her, slid them into my pants. “Thanks, Shelby.”
“Yeah.”
“You know, I brought back all the medication Mr. Howe was keeping for us. There’s a prescription of yours in there. If you need it or anything.” I watched her closely, wondering if she’d share with me what the pills were for, if I’d earned that bit of intimacy.
But Shelby just lifted her chin. Let her eyes grow distant. “Cool,” was all she said.
—
We spent the next few hours engaged in activities that, in retrospect, seem stupid and uninformed. But I guess when you want so badly to be doing something, you’ll take almost anything. This involved not only collecting wood to keep the fire going and setting up the second tent, but we also got it in our minds that we needed to continue building a second bonfire closer to the water in a more visible spot. If a helicopter were to come by, went our logic, it would be easier to see.
We also talked about walking out to the south, the long way, but the storm started up again, first dusting us with more snow and hail, and then the wind really went wild, shaking the trees and dropping daggers of ice everywhere. We scattered then, crawling into our tents to huddle in safety, if not the illusion of.
I joined Rose, of course, but Avery came in with us, too, and you know, that might sound weird or whatever, but in the moment, it wasn’t. Rose needed another Percocet, so I gave one to her. Avery curled up on the opposite side of her, burrowing between a sleeping bag and the frozen ground. I didn’t mention the bedbugs. There wasn’t anything to be done about them, and pretending the problem didn’t exist felt like the most generous act.
When I Am Through with You Page 21