“All bright.”
She patted his rump, then stepped away. “Let’s get some breakfast. I’m starving.”
Back at the camp, Rick heated water on the fire for instant coffee. Bert dumped powdered eggs into her pan, stirred in water, and used her sheath knife to scrape chunks of meat off a bacon bar. She cooked the meal over the burner of her small propane stove.
Rick normally abhorred instant coffee. This morning, however, it seemed to taste great. He drank it eagerly while he lingered over the scrambled eggs with bacon.
And he watched Bert sitting on a log across from him, eating from the pan. Her hair gleamed like gold over one ear where the sunlight fell on it. Her white T-shirt, so bright that it almost hurt his eyes to look at it, hung loosely over her breasts. Her nipples made it jut and he could see a hint of their darkness through the fabric. The pan was on her lap. Her legs, long and sleek, were stretched out and crossed at the ankles.
Finishing first, Rick got up and went to his pack. He took out his Polaroid camera.
“Come on,” Bert said, “my hair’s a mess.”
“You look great. Just keep eating.”
She shrugged and rolled her eyes upward. Rick took a shot as she lifted the fork to her mouth. With a buzz, the camera ejected the photo.
Rick crouched beside Bert and they watched the picture appear, faint at first, growing sharp, finally showing every detail in rich clarity. “I told you my hair was a mess.”
“Now let’s get one with your shirt off.”
“Up yours.”
“I’ll wait till you go to change it.”
“Who says I’m going to change it?”
Rick tried to keep his tone light. “You show through, you know.”
She grinned. “Is that a problem for you?”
“I love it. But we might meet someone on the trails.”
“Ah.”
“Or you could put on a bra.”
“If I’d brought one.”
“It I’d brought one.”
“I just don’t think...”
“I know. You don’t want some stranger getting an eyeful. Rather selfish of you, don’t you think?”
“Yep.” Not just selfish, he thought. Seeing her nipples through the shirt might give people ideas. Such ideas might lead to ...
“Well, I suppose if it’s going to bother you. But no pictures, or I’ll change in the tent.”
“A deal.”
“Why don’t you get some shots of the campsite before we tear it down?”
Rick obliged, then put the camera away.
They took the cook kits down to the stream. After cleaning them, Rick remained to brush his teeth and wash. He returned to camp. Standing in a patch of sunlight, he changed out of the sweatsuit he had slept in. Bert doused the fire and watched him. Then she pulled off her T-shirt, walked over to her pack, and took out the faded blue chambray shirt she had worn yesterday. She buttoned it up, and gave Rick a coy smile as she fastened the button at her throat. “Is this modest enough for you?” she asked.
“Well, you don’t have to overdo it.”
She smiled and opened the top two buttons. “Okay?”
“Fine.”
She went inside the tent. Rick watched while she forced her sleeping bag into its stuff sack. “Want me to do yours?” she asked.
If she started touching the things on his side of the tent, she might find the revolver in his coat.
“No, fine. I’ll take care of it.”
She crawled out.
Rick entered the tent, rammed his sleeping bag into its tiny sack, and brought it out along with his rolled parka. Bert stayed beside him, rearranging the contents of her backpack. He wanted to put the gun into a side pocket of his pack where it would be easy to reach, but that was impossible with Bert there. So he left it inside his parka. His sleeping bag went on top of it.
So much for easy access, Rick thought.
They struck the tent. They were both on their knees, folding it, when Rick heard voices. His stomach clenched. Head snapping to the side, he saw three figures moving through the trees, coming down the trail that ran past their campsite. He looked at Bert.
She was watching them, too. Her hands were on the tent. The way her loose shirt hung toward the ground, Rick could see the shadowed slope of a breast. He felt as if his head were being squeezed. He wanted to shout for her to button up, damn it! Then the shirt swayed back and concealed her breast as she raised herself.
She waved at the strangers. “Morning,” she called.
Shit!
They might’ve gone on by if she’d kept quiet. Why did Bert
The young man in the lead called, “Hi, there,” and turned off the trail. He stepped between a couple of saplings and came toward them, followed by his two companions.
Bert stood up. She brushed dirt and pine needles off her knees.
Numb and shaking, Rick got to his feet. He forced himself to smile and say, “Hello” to the three approaching men.
Men? Boys. They were teenagers, seventeen or eighteen years old.
That’s worse, he thought.
Three of them. God.
He strolled over to his pack, lifted out his sleeping bag, and set it on the ground. There were voices behind him, but he didn’t listen. Fingers trembling, he plucked at his down parka, turned it until the pocket was on top. He slipped his hand in, pulled out the revolver and shoved its barrel down the front of his pants. He untucked his shirt, looked down at himself to make sure the gun handle didn’t show, then took a cigar from his shirt pocket and faced the intruders.
They’re not intruders, he told himself. Bert
She was still beside the collapsed tent. The three guys stood in a semi-circle, facing her.
He ripped off the cigar’s cellophane wrapper as he walked toward them. “Hello, fellows,” he said, and clamped the cigar in his teeth.
As he lighted up, Bert smiled at him. “They spent the night at Mosquito Pasture,” she said.
“Sure did,” said the leader, smiling. He was bigger than Rick and had a body that looked solid. “They damn near carried us off. Wally got messed up real good.”
Wally, a fat kid in glasses who wore cut-off jeans that hung low and appeared ready to drop around his ankles, turned and pointed to red weals on the backs of his legs. He pointed out others on his neck, on the inner sides of his forearms and the crooks of his elbows. “They murdered me,” he said in a dismal voice.
“Don’t you have insect repellent?” Bert asked, sounding concerned.
“Who wants to stink?”
“That’s a good one,” said the third boy, a lanky, freckled kid in white-rimmed sunglasses and an olive green beret.
Wally sneered at him.
“Have you tried Cutters’?” Bert asked. “It doesn’t smell bad.”
Wally shook his head.
“I’ve got some left in my old botde,” she said. “Why don’t you take it?”
“get...”
Bert headed for her pack.
Wally scratched the side of his neck and watched Bert. The leader watched her, too. Rick couldn’t tell where the guy in the sunglasses was looking, but he could guess.
