Wicked River

by Jenny Milchman

“I hope he understood when I told him you were all right,” Kurt went on. “He hasn’t regained consciousness long enough for me to assess his mental state. His reaction when you arrived just now was the most awareness I’ve seen him show.”

  “Are you some sort of doctor?” Natalie asked.

  Kurt let out a sharp bark of what sounded like surprise. “No.”

  “You said ‘assess his mental state,’” Natalie said. “Sounded professional.”

  Kurt didn’t answer, staring at her for long enough that Natalie began to feel uncomfortable. She took a look over her shoulder. Doug continued to breathe evenly and steadily beneath the sleeping bag.

  “Should we zip him inside?” she asked. “Instead of just laying that over him?”

  Kurt broke their stare at last. “Not a good idea, in case he does get sick again,” he said. “It’s easier to keep both him and the bag clean this way.”

  Natalie felt her cheeks heat. The things this man had done for them as they returned to the land of the living! They both owed a debt it would be impossible to repay.

  A whisper rose up from the ground, so faint that Natalie mistook it first for a rustle of leaves on the forest floor.

  “Nat-a-lie?”

  She dropped down. “Doug, yes, honey, I’m here.”

  “You’re—” Doug’s mouth fell shut as if hinged, the effort of opening it clearly too much for him.

  “Alive, yes, I’m fine, or at least I’m getting there,” Natalie said. “And so are you, Doug. So are you!” Her voice hit a joyful note. “Thanks to this man.”

  She sent a look of sheer gratitude up toward Kurt. He was handsome, she realized. Why did he choose to live out here all alone? The thought occurred to her—perhaps he didn’t. Perhaps Kurt had a wife, or a partner, and had already sent that person to the nearest town for help. Perhaps she or he was headed back, right at this very moment while Natalie reunited with her own spouse, whom she had believed to be lost.

  Doug began dropping back off to sleep. Natalie smiled, laying her head gently on her husband’s chest, making sure to steer clear of his belly, which she imagined to be tender and sore. “He’ll thank you, I’m sure,” Natalie said, aiming her promise up toward Kurt, who had remained standing. “When he wakes up.”

  Kurt replied briskly. “No thanks needed.”

  “Do you think we can give him some broth?” Natalie asked. “I mean, he seems so weak. He needs calories, right?”

  Kurt appeared to consider. “Another cupful of water first,” he said. “If that stays down, then yes, some broth.”

  Natalie nodded. “But we didn’t bring any with us. Water. Or one of your cups.”

  “I only have one,” Kurt said, giving her a brief smile. “I’ve been boiling and washing it so the three of us could switch off. I’ll have to make another couple out of clay. I’ve just been too busy to get to that yet.”

  “I’m sorry,” Natalie said, flushing again. “Of course you wouldn’t have dishes for company. You weren’t exactly expecting guests.”

  “Not expecting,” Kurt agreed. “But I’m certainly glad you’ve come.”

  Natalie gave him an uncertain smile. There was nothing in this situation to be glad about, although living out here in the wilderness must get lonely, of course. Kurt likely didn’t have a partner then. The three of them would have to figure out how to summon help, or some other way for Natalie and Doug to return to civilization once Doug had regained more of his strength.

  “Should I go back for the water?” Natalie suggested. “Where do you keep—”

  “Don’t be silly,” Kurt interrupted. “You can’t make the trip by yourself.”

  “I actually feel pretty good,” Natalie replied. But she settled down on the ground beside Doug, letting out an exhalation of relief. “Though maybe I shouldn’t overdo it my first day up.” A faint ghost from the past drifted in on a wisp of wind. Their mother issuing a caution after Claudia had been out sick for a week, missing big-girl school, and staying home with Natalie. A warning that Claudia needed to take it easy, in the form of a word from their mother, one whose meaning Natalie hadn’t known. Relapse.

  Kurt watched her, his eyes studious and intent, as if assessing her claim of renewed health. Was he a doctor, and hadn’t wanted to admit it for some reason? He’d acted odd when Natalie had asked.

  “I’ll wait here with Doug,” Natalie said, stating the obvious once the silence had spun itself out. “While you go for the water.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kurt said softly. “I can’t leave you here by yourself.”

  Natalie frowned. “I’m not going anywhere without him,” she said. “I’ll sleep here tonight, I don’t need the hut. I’m feeling almost normal, just incredibly hungry.” Who would’ve thought the day would come when she’d crave a nice, juicy bite of chipmunk?

  Kurt squatted down beside her, speaking right into her face. His breath smelled of pine and green things and the cool, crisp air around them. “It’s not safe for you to stay on your own,” he said, “now that you can walk. I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me, and we’ll both return with the water.”

  Natalie rose on unsteady feet, and took a look around. “Why isn’t it safe here?”

  “For many reasons,” Kurt replied, guiding Natalie in the direction from which they had come, “that you don’t need to worry about now.” He paused. “So long as you and I move about together, you’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.”

  Natalie turned back just once. Doug was still sleeping quietly.

  Then she followed Kurt into the forest.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Natalie couldn’t have imagined an appetite like this. She would never again claim to be “starving” upon skipping a meal. That night, Kurt built a fire near the creek where Doug lay resting, using a dented pot to make broth from the carcasses of the chipmunks he and Natalie had consumed. Kurt had eaten just one of the small animals, taking judiciously paced bites, while Natalie had devoured hers before gobbling another two.

  “I’ll have to catch more,” Kurt said, crouching by the fire to tend his soup.

  He’d started the blaze without benefit of matches. The act seemed so seamless, so natural that Natalie had hardly registered it. Kurt had spun a stick between his palms until a second stick ignited. The handmade taper lay on a rock, ready for its next use.

  A curl of fragrant steam rose from the pot, while the campfire contributed its own smoky essence. Natalie settled back against a rock, her hand quietly stroking her still-sleeping husband, and felt a glimmer of an emotion she couldn’t identify. The right name came to her after a moment. It was a feeling of well-being.

  “Chipmunks,” Kurt elaborated when Natalie didn’t say anything. “This is the time to capture them. Come autumn, they go into hiding and become much harder to find.”

  “I’m actually licking my lips,” Natalie said, feeling a soft laugh build inside her, then bubble out. She looked down at Doug, who didn’t stir. “Who would believe that chipmunk could ever sound tempting?”

  Kurt studied her, and she had a moment to regret her unchecked words.

  Then he gave her an uneven grin and said, “It ain’t steak on the backyard grill, that’s for sure.”

  The exchange felt a little awkward, but Natalie smiled back.

  “There’s venison as well,” Kurt said. “A deer was killed last night. Tomorrow I can make a stew.”

  Natalie’s stomach started making noises, although satiation eased them from a growl to a mumble. A deer was killed, Kurt had said. What did that mean exactly? How had it been killed? “What made you decide to do this?” Natalie asked, using a waving hand to indicate what she meant.

  Kurt’s smile vanished as if a mask had been removed. “That’s a long story.”

  “I have time,” Natalie said, and giggled again. The food in her belly, the warmth fr
om the fire, and the weight of her living, breathing husband beside her had all combined to lull Natalie into a state she thought she’d never experience again. She felt the same light, frothy tipsiness the champagne had bestowed on her wedding day. Kurt’s dark cascade of hair, the way his eyes gripped hers with such comprehension, made Natalie feel nearly flirtatious. “Tell me,” she urged.

  Kurt looked at her across the high, darting flames.

  Natalie sought to hold his stare. It had a penetrating, knowing quality about it; perhaps having been brought back from the brink of death by this man connected the two of them with a degree of intimacy belied by how long they’d been acquainted.

  Natalie’s face reddened in a way not attributable to the heat of the fire, and she was finally forced to look away. She squeezed Doug’s hand, warm and vital inside hers, squinting through the dark to confirm the rise and fall of his chest before daring a glance back toward Kurt.

  “Look up there,” he commanded, pointing.

  A convex bowl of sky, studded with white pinpricks, sheltered them from above. “I know,” Natalie said softly. “It stunned me the first nights of our trip. So different from back home. In the city, you can go weeks without seeing any stars at all.”

  “You both must be quite the outdoorspeople, though,” Kurt said. “To have gone on a trip like this for your honeymoon.”

  Natalie positioned herself nearer to Doug. She wasn’t sure how much her husband was taking in, given his ongoing state of repose, but didn’t they say that even comatose patients could hear things, possibly detect emotion? If she sat close enough to him and spoke very distinctly, then Doug might register some of what she said.

  “Doug is,” she said.

  “Not you?” Kurt asked.

  She let out another laugh, although this one didn’t feel mirthful. “I can’t even read a map. Like, literally.”

  Kurt appeared curious. “No?”

  Natalie shook her head. “Doug took care of the navigating. And a lot of other things besides.” She didn’t want to think about what Doug had done, not when he’d just been restored to her. And she certainly wouldn’t open up about this topic to a stranger.

  “Did you have a dollhouse as a little girl?” Kurt asked.

  The question took Natalie aback, but she felt a sad smile toy at the corner of her mouth. “My older sister did,” she answered. By the time Natalie had been old enough to want her own such plaything, her mother was long dead, and her father didn’t buy toys—or much of anything else—without direct instruction. “I used hers sometimes. Why?”

  Kurt shifted on the ground, his eyes catching the shine of the moon overhead. “Maps are just like dollhouses. A scaled-down version of the real thing. A map is to these woods”—he gestured around, indicating the border of forest where the ivory glow of moonlight didn’t extend—“as a dollhouse is to a real dwelling.”

  Natalie frowned. Kurt’s explanation delivered little more meaning than a map did whenever she looked at one.

  “Minus a few details, of course,” he went on, reading her confusion. “Your dolls didn’t need plumbing, for instance. Or heat. Similarly, a map won’t show every tree and rock. But what it does reveal is enough. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes,” Natalie said, and it did, sort of, though she was sure any increased understanding would evaporate the next time she held a map in her hands.

  Kurt’s eyes lit, or perhaps the moonlight sparked in them. Still, Natalie had the strangest feeling that he sensed what she’d been thinking. The knowledge he seemed to have of her was at once comforting, and unsettling.

  “You might surprise yourself,” he said. “Still, it is too bad.”

  “What is?” Natalie asked. “What do you mean?”

  Kurt leaned in through the dark, his breath quick and delicate upon her. “Doug did the navigating on your trip, you said? And not only on your trip…other times as well.”

  Natalie gave a nod. Had she said that? She couldn’t recall. There was a strange hypnotic quality to the conversation they’d been having.

  “You’re still playing in your sister’s dollhouse, Natalie,” said Kurt. “In someone else’s world. You haven’t yet taken possession of your own.”

  Natalie pressed down so hard on Doug’s hand that even in sleep, he flinched and pulled away.

  Kurt stood up and began scouting around on the ground. He picked up a chunk of wood and positioned it amidst the flames, fanning them to build up the fire.

  Natalie blinked as the smoke entered her eyes, stinging them like bees.

  “I’ve angered you,” Kurt said, prodding the blaze.

  The fire soared higher, a bright-orange helium balloon. Kurt stood up and filled the cup with water from a hand-formed jug, offering it to Natalie.

  Natalie gulped down the contents. Today’s temperature had been lower than yesterday’s, and the water consequently colder, tasting of the mysterious depths it’d risen from.

  “I’m not mad at you,” she said at last.

  Kurt peered at her. “At Doug?”

  Natalie stared off into the night. “Yes. But maybe even more at myself.”

  Kurt refilled her cup.

  Natalie looked down at Doug. “Can I… Should I trickle some into his mouth?”

  “You can try,” Kurt said. “Start by wetting his lips.”

  Natalie was able to moisten Doug’s mouth and slide a few drops down his throat.

  “What happened?” Kurt asked. “Why would you be angry at yourself?”

  Kurt seemed less to be prying than trying to ease her mind, allowing her to share. There was a blurry, swimmy quality to the evening—the dark, Doug sleeping so deeply, Kurt’s ardent interest—that encouraged confidences.

  “Doug was in trouble,” Natalie began, checking her husband for a response. But he slept on, undisturbed. “In over his head. Actually it was his friend, Doug’s former friend, whom Doug felt he had to help. And I didn’t know about this,” she concluded.

  “That’s a hard way to start a marriage,” Kurt remarked.

  Anger and betrayal, still set to ignite, blazed through Natalie. “If we hadn’t nearly died out here, I don’t know that we would’ve made it as a couple.” She looked down at Doug, stroking a lock of his hair. “Despite all the things that brought us together. And even though, so many times out there, Doug tried to help me, save me even. It’s a cliché, but almost losing my husband showed me that I didn’t want to live without him.”

  Kurt’s intent stare bore into hers.

  Natalie dipped her head, feeling tears well. “I was ready to give up too soon, though. On our marriage. On Doug himself. I always…”

  “Give up too soon?” Kurt asked when her sentence flagged.

  Natalie managed a nod. The black-magic quality to the night had swelled, expanded. Kurt as sorcerer, extending his wand. Memories started to mix together in her head in a furious brew. Val and Eva, and how Natalie hadn’t even tried to make amends after they’d communicated their hurt. And the job she’d just taken, the latest in a string that didn’t come close to being what she really wanted to do. Even the way Natalie had chosen to settle in the city, less out of love for it than because that was all she knew.

  Kurt kept silent, watching as if her thoughts were somehow being shared.

  “I lost something very important at a young age,” Natalie said hesitantly, feeling her way. “Someone very important.” Another realization hung there, vague and unformed, though Natalie couldn’t catch hold of it.

  “And so you didn’t learn how to hang on,” Kurt said. “Even when you needed to. Because you’re used to things disappearing on you. Or being taken away.”

  It was exactly what she had been thinking, but hadn’t been able to put into words.

  The whole world seemed to come alive then, in a way she’d never experienced before. Vibr
ant and forceful and exciting. The constant drone of the forest separated into distinct sounds: trickling water, a needful hoot from an owl, rustles in the leaves. Natalie let her eyes fell shut, and when next she took a look around, moonlight painted every detail, and the smells were overpowering: pine needles and loamy earth, the coppery rush of creek water, a metallic stink of bugs. She opened her mouth, and warm, humid air filled it.

  Doug stirred on his bed of cushioning, darkness softly settled, and the sensory urgency of the night began to recede.

  “We should get some rest,” Kurt said at last. “We don’t know when your husband might awaken and need our attentions.”

  “But…” Natalie suddenly realized. “You never told me about you. We began talking about why you decided to come live out here, then got onto me instead.”

  Like a pied piper, Kurt had led Natalie along a different path. Had that been deliberate? Kurt seemed genuinely more interested in others than he was in himself.

  He positioned himself horizontally, lying upon the bare earth at a discreet point of remove. It seemed considerate of him, not to encroach on Natalie’s personal space.

  “Ach, me,” he said. “That’s a story for another time.”

  Natalie lay down on the ground, nestling against Doug. “Good night, Kurt,” she said quietly, but fell asleep before hearing his reply.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  In the dead of the night, Natalie woke to a great, thrashing sound, then Doug sat bolt upright beside her.

  He let out a moan.

  “Honey?” Natalie whispered. The sickness, it’s come back, she thought, envisioning a river of that sludge running down to meet the creek.

  Doug moaned again. “I’m so hungry.”

  Natalie’s vision began to adjust to the lack of light. She lifted her eyes and met Doug’s. They were the clearest she had seen them in days, lit by a violent, rapacious need that Natalie recognized.

  “Right here,” Kurt said, and he was beside them, holding out the tin cup.

  Its contents were warm, the metal pleasant to the touch in the chilly night.