“What?”
“It has to set. The sand needs time to set.” She turned to me for support.
“That’s right,” I told Billie.
“None of us were supposed to use it till tomorrow,” Thelma protested.
“Oh.”
“Now you’ve probably ruined it.”
“We forgot to tell you,” I said to Billie. Then I faced Thelma and said, “See? I knew better than to use it. That’s why I was heading for the jungle.”
“By yourself?” Thelma asked.
“Who am I supposed to take with me?”
She opened her mouth as if to give me a suggestion, but then she grabbed Billie’s shoulder and shook it. “Did you see what he did to your daughter?”
Billie nodded.
We all looked toward Connie. She was still stretched out in the sand near the fire, but not on her back. While nobody was watching, she must’ve rolled over.
“Guess she’s okay,” I said.
“Rupert attacked her,” Thelma explained.
“I did not.”
“Bull!” she snapped at me. “You tried to tear off her clothes.”
“Settle down,” Billie told her. “Connie took off her own top.”
“No, she didn’t. Why would she do that?” Thelma glared at me. “And what did you do with Kimberly?”
“Nothing.”
“Then where is she?”
Billie and I shared a glance. She shook her head; I shrugged.
“If we don’t tell her the truth,” Billie said, “we’ll be making up stories till Hell freezes over.”
“Yeah. I know. But look, the thing is, I’ve got a little, uh, chore to take care of. Why don’t you two go on back to the fire. See how Connie’s doing, and you can tell Thelma all about our plan. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Where’s my sister?” Thelma demanded.
“I’ll see if I can find her,” I said. Without waiting for any more trouble, I turned around and headed for the jungle. When I was just about there, I looked back. Billie and Thelma were walking slowly away, side by side. They seemed to be talking, but I couldn’t make out the words.
I was so annoyed and frustrated, thanks to Thelma, that I forgot to be afraid.
A short distance into the trees, I looked back and couldn’t see much of the beach anymore—just a little flicker from our fire.
The bit I’d told Thelma about “taking a dump” had been a fib. I truly did need to pee, though. Right where I stood seemed like as good a place as any.
Nobody seemed to be nearby.
Of course, Wesley or Kimberly might’ve been standing three feet away without being seen. Awfully dark in there.
I told myself, If I can’t see them, they can’t see me.
I half believed it, too.
My trunks don’t have a fly. I got clear of them by tugging the crotch up and sideways, which gave me a window of opportunity through the left leg hole. I kept the trunks out of the way with my right hand, and kept the tomahawk in my left.
One more glance around, then I started to go.
It promised to be a long one.
Which didn’t thrill me. I wanted to get it done with and amscray back to the beach.
Also, I wasn’t thrilled by the noise I was making. A loud, papery, splattery sound. Obviously, I was hitting leaves or some other variety of foliage. It’s damn near impossible to take a silent leak in a jungle. I tried swiveling from side to side. The noise changed directions, but not volume.
It was just starting to taper off when I heard someone take a step. At first, I didn’t know it was a footstep. I didn’t know for sure until I heard the second one.
Then came the third, closer to me than the others.
By that time, I had shut down my irrigation project and stowed the equipment.
I switched the tomahawk to my right hand.
Then I stood still and held my breath.
And wished to God I had stayed on the beach where I belonged.
The footsteps stopped.
Maybe two yards away?
I strained my eyes to see who was there, but all I could make out were different shades of dark gray—and a lot of black.
It’s probably Kimberly, I told myself.
But what if it isn’t?
I knew, really, that it had to be her. She’d heard me and started to come toward me, then stopped, afraid I might be Wesley.
We were both standing there, trying to convince ourselves that the other person wasn’t Wesley.
Suddenly, I had a bad thought.
What if she decides I’m Wesley, and attacks me?
She wouldn’t do that. After all, I was supposed to come out here and act as bait. She was expecting me.
But she also expected Wesley to show up.
It was actually possible that she might goof and kill me by mistake.
Anyway, we couldn’t just stand here all night.
In a quiet voice, I said, “Kimberly? It’s me. Rupert.”
The voice came back, “Rupert? It’s me. Wesley.”
Close Shaves and Rescues
Wesley, being the asshole that he is, apparently couldn’t resist the chance to scare the hell out of me. If he’d just kept his mouth shut and snuck in closer and used his ax, I’d be a dead boy right now.
But he had to answer me back.
My reactions surprised me.
I didn’t scream and whirl around and make a mad dash for the beach. Which is what I would’ve guessed I’d do, if anyone had asked.
Maybe everyone isn’t like this, but I seem to have at least two different people inside of me: one is timid and plays by the rules; the other is a little nuts—and the nut pops up at odd, unexpected times.
I was standing there, scared half to death even before Wesley answered—my knees shaking, my heart slugging. Then he said, “Rupert? It’s me. Wesley.”
Instead of having a panic attack, I heard myself greet the guy. “Hey, Wesley, how’s it going?”
“Having a ball.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“What was this supposed to be, tonight? Some sort of trap?”
“Yep.”
“Guess who got caught in it?”
“You tell me.”
I hoped to God he wasn’t about to say, “Kimberly.”
