Resurrection Dreams (25 page)

“Too bad we don’t have a flashlight,” Jack said.

“I hadn’t really planned to do this.”

Side by side, they waded slowly forward. The creek and its shores were dark except for a few flecks of moonlight. Vicki heard the voices of the searchers, but they seemed no closer than before. She couldn’t make out the words.

Though she often checked the black path of the creek in front of her, she concentrated on studying the shores. If Charlie’s in the water, she thought, we won’t have to see him. We’ll feel him. This stretch of the creek was so narrow that they wouldn’t be able to miss the body. It would strike their legs.

And she prayed that Charlie was not in the water. They were too far downstream from the bridge.

If he’s still alive, she thought, he’s either on the shore or the searchers already found him.

Her heart gave a sudden lurch as she spotted a pale shape floating toward her. Jack squeezed her hand, then let go. He hurried toward the thing. “Just a branch,” he whispered.

“Thank God.”

He bent down and pushed it. The branch slid out of the way, scraping against rocks along the shore.

They continued walking up the creek.

While Vicki’s eyes roamed the dim shapes of bushes and rocks alongside the stream, she listened for the searchers. Minutes went by when all she heard were birds and insects, an occasional frog, the slurp of their own legs moving through the water.

Then, a voice would come from the distance ahead. Another would usually answer. Then, more silence.

The voices seemed farther away then before.

That pleased Vicki, at first. She certainly didn’t want to run into any of the men from the chief’s party. But she began wondering what it meant.

It could mean, she decided, one of two things: either Charlie had already been found, or the searchers had finished hunting downstream.

She hoped that they had turned back because Charlie had been found. Found alive.

But what she believed, in spite of her hopes, was that the men had made their way to the river’s edge without finding him. Some time before she and Jack arrived. Once he was in the river, there was no point in continuing the search. The body would be lost. Until it washed ashore somewhere, maybe miles downriver. Or until it decomposed and the gases sent the bloated corpse popping to the surface. So the men had given up and headed back for the bridge.

We might as well quit, she thought.

No. Too soon.

Jack made a quiet “Hmm?” He waded to the right. Vicki stayed beside him, peering at the shore, wondering what he’d noticed. He stopped and looked down. Vicki saw the vague shape of a cigarette butt on top of a dark rock.

“My hands are wet,” he whispered. “Do you mind?”

Vicki shrugged, unsure of what he meant.

He pressed his right hand against the front of her T-shirt. She felt it rub across her belly, and she realized he was using her shirt as a towel because he wore no shirt, himself, and his shorts were damp. He turned his hand over, rubbed the back of it against her, then clenched the shirt in his fist. When his hand went away, she felt the moisture it had left on the fabric. And she still felt his touch like a warm, exciting after-image.

He bent down. He picked up the remains of the cigarette. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “Fresh,” he whispered. “Filter’s still wet.”

“So the searchers got this far,” Vicki said. It confirmed her suspicions.

“They might’ve missed him, I guess.”

“They’ve got lights.”

“Do you want to turn back?” Jack asked, and tossed the cigarette into the bushes.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s fine with me if you want to keep looking.”

“We’d just be going over ground they already searched.”

“It’s up to you,” he said.

“I guess there’s not much point.”

“Maybe they found him.”

“Maybe.”

Jack took a step closer to Vicki. He gave her upper arm a gentle squeeze, then kept his hand there. “I wish there was something we could do for Charlie.”

“We did all we could.”

“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”

Vicki nodded. “He helped me so much. I was his patient, you know. He was my doctor when I was a kid. When he found out I was interested in medicine, he kind of took me under his wing. I’d go over to the clinic after school, sometimes, and he’d show me things and we’d talk.”

“I suppose he must be like a father to you.”

“I never needed a father figure…have a perfectly good real one, you know? Charlie and I were never even all that close. We were friends, but it was pretty much on a professional level. He was always encouraging me.”

“He must’ve cared a lot for you,” Jack said, lightly caressing her arm.

“More than I ever suspected. I wish…” Her throat tightened. “I wish I’d paid more attention to him. I should’ve seen him outside the clinic, had dinners with him, or…”

“Does he have a family?”

“He’s divorced. He never had children. He was all alone, and I just ignored him.”

“You joined him in his work,” Jack said. “It sounds as if that’s exactly what he wanted all along. I think you fulfilled whatever hopes he had for you. You shouldn’t feel guilty for not doing more.”

That’s a good way to look at it, she thought. “He never acted as if he…I mean, I went my way and he went his. I don’t know what he did when he left the clinic. He had lots of money, a beautiful home. He was fairly handsome for a man his age. So I just assumed he was getting along fine. I never worried about him. I hardly gave him any thought at all. I should’ve.”

Jack caressed the side of her face. “Do you want to keep looking?”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll go back to town and find out what’s happening. For all we know, Charlie’s made it through all this. He might be in a hospital room, right now, giving orders to the nurses.”

“That’d be nice,” Vicki said. “If only it’s true.”

They turned away from the shore. Vicki held his hand. Side by side, they waded down the middle of the creek. Though she had no more hopes of finding Charlie, she scanned the darkness anway.

I should’ve cared more about him, she thought. I should’ve made sure he was happy. He wasn’t a father figure to me, but was I like a daughter to him? Maybe. Probably. He did what a father does for a daughter: encouraged me, taught me, gave me advice and guidance…paid for my schooling.

God, Charlie, I’m sorry.

You fulfilled whatever hopes he had for you.

Did I?

If you’re still alive, Charlie. I’ll make it up to you. I will.

Soon, she saw the moonlit river through a break in the trees ahead.

“Almost there,” Jack said.

“I’ll be glad when we’re rid of the canoe.”

“We can go to my place, and I’ll drive you over to the bridge.”

“Okay.”

That’s the one good thing about all this, she thought. Being with Jack. If only the rest hadn’t happened…

We’ll be together a lot from now on, she told herself, and squeezed his hand.

He looked at her. She wished she could see his face.

They waded forward. As they neared the mouth of the creek, the view of the river widened.

And Vicki saw the canoe.

On the river.

Twenty or thirty feet out.

Drifting away.

“Oh no,” Vicki muttered.

“How the hell…?”

She let go of Jack and lurched forward. He grabbed her arm. “No. Wait here. I’ll get it.” He backed away, held up a hand signaling her to stay put, then swung around and hit the creek in a low dive. Water exploded up. Vicki trudged after him, watching him swim through the last of the narrow channel and into the river.

Wait here?

I don’t think so.

She glanced at the slope where they had left the canoe. Saw no one. But somebody had been there. The canoe hadn’t just slipped into the river. Someone had pushed it. And might be nearby.

Goosebumps swarmed over her skin as she searched the darkness of the slope.

She looked at Jack. He was halfway to the canoe.

She threw herself forward, hit the water flat, knifed through it, glided up to the surface and began to swim. Lifting her head, she snatched a breath. She spotted Jack. “Slow down,” she called.

He stopped swimming. She saw only his head while he waited for her to catch up.

“I would’ve come back for you,” he said.

“I know,” she told him, treading water. “I just didn’t want to stay there alone. Somebody did this, you know.”

“The possibility occurred to me.”

She saw that the canoe was drifting farther away. “We’d better get a move on,” she said.

They swam for it.

Jack reached the canoe first. He ducked beneath it. Vicki realized he intended to hold the other side of the vessel to keep it steady while she boarded. “Okay,” he said. “Climb on in.”

Stretching out an arm, she grabbed the gunnel. She pulled herself forward, lifted herself high enough to seek Jack’s fingers curled over the aluminum gunnel, and glimpsed something large and dark lying in the bottom of the canoe.

A man?

“Jaaaaack?” Her voice came out tight and rising.

“What’s…?” His head came up. “Holy Jesus,” he muttered. “Is it Charlie?”

“I don’t know. I can’t…”

The thing in the bottom of the boat sat up fast and smashed a forearm across Jack’s face. Jack flew backward. The canoe rocked toward Vicki as she heard a hard splash. She tried to thrust herself away. A hand grabbed her hair. Yanked her up. For a moment that seemed to last a long time, she hung there, the canoe skidding on its side about to capsize, her scalp burning with pain, her waist against the gunnel, water rushing around her legs as the canoe slid, her gaze on the black moonlit face that couldn’t belong to Charlie.

Charred. Cracked. Holes where his eyes should he. No hair. One side of the head gaping open as if his skull had caved in. And in the lasting moment, she thought, It’s Charlie. Has to be. Alive!

She felt no elation. Just pain and shock and terror.

What’s he doing alive with that kind of head trauma?

Why’d he hit Jack? Why’s he doing this?

Jack might drown!

She swung a fist up to strike at the outstretched arm, but he twisted away and she felt herself rise up and drop forward. The shift in weight made the canoe drop from its wild tilt. It rocked from side to side, the gunnel pressing into her thighs, raising and lowering them. She felt air on her kicking legs, then water, than air again. Her face rested on something that felt cool and wet and crusted. She knew it was Charlie’s burned leg.

With a gurgling sound that might have been a laugh, Charlie shoved her hip. Her legs scooted along the gunnel. She twisted and squirmed, trying to get away from him. He pushed her, turned her as she struggled. At the moment Vicki’s legs dropped into the canoe, he threw her onto her back.

She fell sprawling on top of him.

She bucked and writhed. He held her down.

“Charlie!” she gasped. “Charlie, it’s me! It’s Vicki! Let go! What are you doing?”

He yanked her T-shirt up until it was stopped by her armpits.

Vicki grabbed the gunnels with both hands and tried to pull herself up.

Charlie tore at her bra. The clasp between the cups gave way. She felt his crisp hands close on the bare skin of her breasts.

“No!” she cried out. “Charlie.”

He answered with a gurgle.

She grabbed one of the fondling hands and pulled it away. Just for an instant. Then, there was a damp crumbling sound, and a husk of burned flesh slid off in her hands. With a squeal, she flung it away. Charlie’s hand clasped her breast again. Now, it felt warm and slick and she knew it was blood and tendon and muscle caressing her.

His other hand went to her belly and moved down. It pushed beneath the waistband of her shorts.

“NO!” She grabbed it.

Teeth clamped down on her shoulder.

She shrieked.

The canoe lurched, tipped onto its port side, and Vicki threw herself that way. The canoe flopped, spilling her into the river with Charlie on her back. His hands stayed where they were. His teeth kept their painful grip on her shoulder.

His weight pressed her downward as if he had no buoyancy at all.

Vicki, with only an instant to react before the water shut over her, had only managed to snatch a little air. Her lungs ached to inflate.

She kicked and flapped her arms, struggling to stop her descent. But Charlie kept sinking her.

His teeth ground into her shoulder.

His one hand slid to her breast and crawled over it like a huge, scabby spider.

The other, inside her shorts, moved to her hip. Fingertips scraped her skin. She felt a quick tug. The thin elastic band of her panties broke.

She grabbed Charlie’s wrist with both hands. She jerked it hard, forcing the hand upward. It didn’t let go of her panties. The crotch dug into her, but she kept pulling. The fabric split. Charlie’s hand came out from inside her shorts and up against her belly. She twisted his wrist, turned his arm away.

Something more than Charlie’s weight thrust her down. Slimy weed licked her skin.

She suddenly felt his head jerk. His teeth ripped her shoulder and let go. His clenching hand was torn away from her breast. Shoving his other arm away, she rolled from under him, tumbled through the clinging fronds, started to rise and kicked madly for the surface.

A hand grabbed the back of her right thigh.

NO!

But instead of dragging her downward, it shoved her up and went away.

Her head broke the surface. She filled her burning lungs with air, saw that she was facing the shore, whirled around and spotted the overturned canoe and swam for it as fast as she could. Moments later, hearing a splash behind her, she slipped onto her side and looked back.

“Go!” Jack yelled. He began swimming after her.

She wanted to wait, but she pictured Charlie coming up out of the depths, reaching for her feet. So she raced for the canoe. She slowed down only long enough to grab a floating paddle. Pressing it against her body, she side-stroked using her free arm until she reached the canoe. She held the prow and looked back.