Copper River

33

B y the time Ren brought the ATV to a stop in front of Cabin 3, Cork was exhausted. His leg hurt like hell, and the spot on his jeans where blood had oozed covered most of the inside of his thigh. He eased himself from the seat behind Ren and almost collapsed when he put weight on his leg.

“I need to lie down,” he told the boy. “Maybe sleep a little. If I’m not up when your mother and the others get back, come and get me, all right?”

“Sure,” Ren said. His eyes dropped to Cork’s thigh, and he winced at the big bloodstain. “Maybe I should look at your leg.”

“I’ll take care of it. Thanks for driving me up the river, Ren.”

Cork turned and hobbled up the steps to his cabin. Inside, he took off his boots and gingerly removed his jeans. The jostling of the ATV ride had worked the butterfly bandages loose. Blood smeared everything from his crotch to his knee, and it was still seeping from the opened wound. He washed in the bathroom sink, silently cursing for not asking Ren for more bandaging before he sent the boy away. He was drying himself when he heard a knock at his door.

“Yeah?” he called.

“It’s me,” Ren said from the other side. “I brought my mom’s medical bag. Just in case you needed something.”

“Come on in.” Cork struggled to his bunk.

Ren scooted a chair next to him, sat down, and bent to examine the wound. He didn’t seem upset by what he saw.

“You probably shouldn’t have gone,” he said.

“Can you fix me, Doc?” Cork asked.

Ren grinned up at him. “Got insurance?”

Cork watched the boy work, his hands moving surely through the ministration. It felt odd, being cared for by one so young, but in a way, he was glad. Through all these unusual circumstances, in the face of enormous challenge, Ren had kept his head. He’d risen to each occasion without confusion or complaint, shown great heart, and Cork couldn’t have been more proud of him than if the boy had been his own son.

When a clean gauze pad was in place over the wound, Cork said, “Thanks, Ren.”

The boy became intent on putting materials back into the bag. “I just thought, you know, you might need some help. How’s the pain?”

“I could use another Vicodin. They’re on the sink in the bathroom.”

Ren came back with the pill bottle and a yellow plastic tumbler full of water.

“You know, I’ve been thinking about the hero of your comic book,” Cork said, after he’d taken the pill. “White Eagle.”

The boy held the tumbler and eyed him uncertainly, waiting for him to go on.

“I don’t know much about art, but I’ve heard the best comes when you tap who you are and what you know. I think you’ve got everything inside you to create a great hero, Ren.”

The boy looked down and for a moment Cork thought maybe he’d trespassed, stepped over a line Ren held sacred.

Ren smiled shyly. “You really think so?”

“I do.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” He put the tumbler and pill bottle back in the bathroom. “When Mom gets home, I’ll let you know she’s here.”

“And could you ask her for a pair of clean jeans and underwear?”

“Sure.”

“Appreciate it.” Cork let his head sink deep into his pillow.

Ren paused at the cabin door. “Was it important? You know, what we did, going up the river?”

Cork closed his eyes and tried not to concentrate on the pain. “What do you think we learned?”

Ren was quiet for a while. When Cork opened his eyes, he saw the boy poking a finger thoughtfully into his chin.

“I don’t know. She could have got into the river almost anywhere,” Ren said.

“When did you spot her?”

“Around sunset.”

“And the shelter’s not far from the summer cottages, right? So if she’d been dumped in the river somewhere in the vicinity of the summer cottages, it would have been broad daylight.”

“Yeah.”

“Would that have been smart?”

“I guess not. Someone might have seen them do it.”

“Bingo. Upriver, where is there easy access if you were carrying a body?”

“There isn’t. Not until you get to the trestle.”

“Which connects with an abandoned logging camp on one end and a main line twenty miles away on the other. What would it take to come up that line twenty miles?”

Ren crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know. Something rugged. SUV or ATV maybe.”

“Can you think of a reason someone would make that kind of trip into this kind of wilderness only to dump a body into a river that had the potential to deliver it back to civilization?”

Ren shook his head. “That would be stupid.”

Cork tried to fight his fatigue, but he could feel himself getting drowsy. He wanted to stay with Ren, to guide the boy to the end of this thinking.

“If it’s true these people are trying to get rid of Charlie because she saw the body in the river, then it’s the river that’s important. Besides the summer cottages and the trestle, where upriver is there easy access?”

Cork had to close his eyes again, he was so tired. He waited. Finally the boy said, “The Copper River Club. You think she came from the Copper River Club.”

“You’re a smart kid, Ren. Now I need a nap.”

He didn’t even hear the boy leave, but his sleep was a restless one. At one point he thought he heard a vehicle pull up outside and he thought dreamily, The women. He sank immediately back into his slumber and into a dream in which a cougar was chewing on the inside of his thigh.

A knock at his door woke him, and he climbed to a hazy consciousness.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me. Ren.”

“Your mom home?”

“Can I come in?”

Later, Cork would think how the boy had sounded timid, even a little afraid, but at the moment he was too sleepy to notice.

“Come ahead.”

Cork closed his eyes tightly, this time to clear the sleep from them. He worked his neck and shoulders a little, which were sore from fighting to hold himself on the ATV. He let out a deep breath and pushed himself into a sitting position. Then he realized the boy wasn’t alone.