Fast asleep.
Standing motionless for a while, I watched and listened. Then I moved in with slow, gentle steps. Though I tried to be silent, a little noise couldn’t be helped. The ground was covered with old leaves and twigs. The leaves sounded like wads of paper crinkling and crunching under my shoes. Some twigs broke like toothpicks. Others snapped like pencils.
I kept my eyes on Judy. She never flinched or raised her head, never reacted in any way to the sounds of my approach.
When I was only a few strides away from her, I realized that I didn’t have a rock yet.
Stopping, I squatted and studied the ground. There were old, dead branches scattered around, but no rocks. None nearby, anyway.
Too bad I didn’t have the one from the creek.
It’s not that there were no rocks in sight. I saw a whole bunch of them. But they were out in the middle of the campsite. Three or four boulders, large enough to sit on, were arranged near the fire. I couldn’t really use one of those. But dozens of smaller rocks, stacked about a foot high, formed a low wall around the fire.
Most of them looked to be the right size for pounding out Judy’s brains.
Most of them would probably be hot, too. But there had to be some that wouldn’t burn my fingers, and I only needed one.
To get it, of course, I would need to abandon the darkness and enter the clearing. Stride out past Judy. Search for my rock out in the open, directly in front of the tent.
Judy’s head was down and the tent flaps were shut.
Besides, her mouth was gagged. Even if she saw me, she couldn’t cry out.
Also, I had the pistol. If things went sour, I could start shooting people.
Before going anywhere, I made sure the safety was off.
The gun shook like crazy in my hand. I was plenty scared. But this wasn’t the creepy sort of fear that gives you goosebumps. This was the kind that makes your heart pound like a club, makes you shake like a lunatic and sweat like a glass full of ice in a heat wave. It makes your legs feel so weak you think they’ve decided, on their own, to keep you from walking into trouble.
But I
There’s this thing about me. Maybe you’ve already noticed it. I’m the sort of gal who gets things done. I’ll do almost anything, no matter how dangerous or messy or awful it might be, if I figure it’s a thing that needs doing.
I wanted a rock, so I made myself go for it.
Staying about five feet away from Judy’s left side, I walked softly past her. She just stood there, arms high, head down. Except for her breathing, she didn’t seem to move at all.
When I was in front of her, I looked back. I’d expected a better view, but the flames had sunk very low. She was bathed in a murky glow that trembled with shadows as if I were looking at her under water.
I couldn’t even tell whether her eyes were shut.
But she didn’t act as if she saw me.
I kept walking.
I glanced at the tent, scanned the clearing ahead of me, checked over each shoulder, eyed the tent again, and several times twisted around for a brief look at Judy.
And wished I could see her better.
Darkness was good for sneaking around, and I should’ve been grateful for it. But I’d expected more firelight. I wanted to be able to see what I was doing—and see Judy.
So when I reached the fire, I crept around to the other side, crouched down by a small pile of wood, and started adding sticks to the shaky remains of the flames.
21
A HELL OF A GAL
Within a few seconds, the fire grew brighter. I added more sticks, and larger ones. They crackled and snapped, crawling with flames.
As I built up the fire, I kept watch on the front of the tent. It stayed shut. No light or sounds came from inside.
I added larger sticks and chunks of branches.
It seemed crazy, even to me. Had I lost my mind? Did I want to get caught?
Who knows?
I kept telling myself that nobody wakes up just because a fire outside the tent is getting larger.
But it was getting louder, too. A lot more snapping and crackling. And every so often, a burning stick would go off with a
I refused to stop adding wood, though, until the fire was large and bright.
Bright enough for its light to spread over Judy.
When her skin gleamed like molten gold, I stood up. I started to step around the fire, then realized I’d forgotten to grab a rock.
Bending over, I patted a few of the rocks along the top of the fire circle. They all felt hot enough to scorch my fingers.
If I’d been taking care of business, I would’ve found one
But the far side of the wall wasn’t being lapped by flames, so I hurried over there. Sure enough, several of the rocks were only mildly warm.
After switching the pistol to my left hand, I used my right to pick up one I liked. It was shaped like a large wedge of pie, and must’ve weighed three or four pounds. Perfect.
On my way over to Judy, I turned around completely a couple of times. The clearing, now alive with firelight, looked deserted. Nobody seemed to be peering out at us from the woods. The tent was dark, its flaps still shut.
Judy’s head still hung down. She didn’t seem to know I was there.
I slipped the pistol into my pocket, held the rock behind my rump so she wouldn’t be able to see it, and walked up to her.
Where my shadow fell on Judy, her shine vanished. I stepped sideways enough to let the firelight reach her.
Her skin was so sweaty she looked as if she’d been rubbed with oil.
“Judy?” I whispered.
She didn’t stir.
I slid my left hand gently up her side. She was slick and smooth and hot.
“Judy?” I asked, a little louder.
She still didn’t respond. My hand was just below her armpit, so that’s where I patted her a few times.
“Judy. Wake up. It’s me.”
Nothing. So I gave her a good, solid smack in the same place. Her breasts lurched. With a gasp, she jerked her head up. She looked into my eyes.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m here to save you.”
Her eyes flicked from side to side, studying me. She moaned into her gag.
I glanced over my shoulder to make sure nobody was coming. Then I faced Judy again and went into my routine. “I thought you were dead,” I told her. “Somebody ambushed us and you went down. Do you remember?”
