Bones

“I think he’s already eaten.”

“You gave me the soup last night. You didn’t have anything to eat, did you?”

“No, I ate some soup. But of the two of us—”

“You’re doing all the physical labor. You need strength. Eat the eggs. Have some soup, too. It’s all he left us, isn’t it?”

“We’re near a meadow. There are dandelions out there, and other things to eat. Besides, J.C. isn’t going to forget about us. As soon as the weather clears, the helicopter will come.”

“Eat the eggs before J.C. gets here.”

“But—”

“While I rest. Please.”

So while Bingle looked on, I scrambled the eggs, which combined to make a little less than one chicken egg’s worth of breakfast. I put a small forkful into the furry thief’s bowl of dog food and ate the rest.

I helped Ben get out of the tent — no easy task — and showed him the crutch. He put it under his arm and leaned on it. It fit better than I thought it would.

“I need two,” he said.

I laughed.

“I mean, thanks. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay. You do need two. I’ll try to find another branch. In the meantime, lean on me.”

Slowly, we made it from the tent to a tree. “Can you manage from here?” I asked. “Call me when you’re finished — I won’t watch.”

“I — not so close to the camp,” he said.

“Ben, under any other circumstances, I’d applaud your sensitivity. But you’re running a fever and you look as if you’re about to pass out. Bingle has marked all of these trees already, so show him who’s alpha. Even injured, I’ll bet you can hit higher.”

“No,” he said. “Not here.”

“Jesus. You’re not exactly in a position to argue, you know that?” But I helped him move farther into the woods.

It was while I was waiting for him to finish that I heard Bingle barking. “Shit! I’ll be right back!”

I ran back to the camp. Bingle wasn’t there, but his fierce, warning barks continued.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. Don’t let him kill the dog. Don’t let him kill Ben. Don’t let him kill me.

I had no weapons other than my knife. I picked up a large stick, which even then I knew would probably be utterly useless, but it gave me some primitive sense of power — that cave dweller bashing power, I suppose.

More cautious now, I made my way toward the barking, which was coming from the woods nearer the stream. Exactly which direction, I couldn’t tell, but the dog seemed to be in front of me. I moved from tree to tree, running in a crouched position, staying as close to the ground as I could.

“Bingle!” I said in a low voice, even before I saw him. “?Bingle, ven aca! ?Callate!” I didn’t dare to shout it. But the dog must have heard me, because he stopped barking and began running toward me. I heard a shot, and Bingle yelped, but he kept running.

He soon reached me, panting and agitated. I dropped my bashing stick and ran my fingers over his fur, but I couldn’t find any wounds. I whispered praise to him and tried to stop shaking. Where was Parrish?

I waited, whispering to Bingle to stay still, to stay quiet. He obeyed, anxiously watching me.

“Irene Kelly!” a voice called out.

I thought Bingle whimpered, then realized I was the one who had made the sound.

“Thanks to that ill-mannered mutt,” Parrish shouted, “I know exactly where you are, Irene! I know, do you hear me? Yes, of course you do! I know exactly where you are!”

I held on to Bingle.

“I will find a way across, Irene!” he shouted. “I will find a way across! Did you think a little water would keep you safe? Think again!”

I didn’t move. My heart was hammering in my chest.

I waited, but he didn’t say anything more. If I had been alone, I probably would have just taken off with Bingle, but I had Ben to think of. As quickly and as quietly as I could, I ran back to the camp.

I hurriedly took up all the used bandages and anything that had blood on it — including the pants I had cut off Ben, and hid them beneath a pile of leaves, away from the camp. I returned to the tent and took up Ben’s sleeping bags, his shaving kit, three water bottles, matches, a mess kit and the soup. I grabbed some bandages, the aspirin, and the Keflex. I left my sleeping bag, but took some clothing, mostly rain gear. I took Bingle’s food and harness. I folded the tarp and was ready to leave, when I saw one last item. I grabbed David’s sweater, which Bingle quickly took from me, and together we ran toward the place where I had left Ben.

He wasn’t there.

“Ben?” I called softly. Had I mistaken the place?

“Over here,” I heard him say.

“Where?” I asked, but Bingle, wagging his tail, moved to a fallen tree. If his mouth hadn’t been full of sweater, he probably would have barked.