Lone Creek

39

When dawn broke a couple of hours later, Laurie had fallen asleep, but I could tell I wasn't going to. I gathered my clothes quietly and dressed outside. My boots had gone cold and stiff, but I hardly felt them as I pulled them on. I walked into the trees to hunt for firewood, finally starting to think about what to do next.

The bit of sleep I'd gotten and the bracing morning air both helped to get my brain working again. But Laurie's warmth had been a far more potent reviver. Although our troubles hadn't lessened in any tangible way, I was gliding in an almost goofy rapture, an invisible shield that allowed me to see the situation without its choking me, and which pushed back the fatalism that had gripped me last night. Formidable as Balcomb was, he wasn't all-powerful. There still might be a way to take him down.

By the time I had a little blaze going, I'd formed a plan of sorts. It might not have been smart, but I didn't really care. There was a lot to be said for cheerfully accepting that you'd lost your mind.

I filled Madbird's camp kettle with clear water from the stream and put it on the fire. I was reluctant to wake Laurie, but I was feeling restless. I waited until the water boiled, then made a cup of instant coffee and took it to her. She looked tousled and pleasantly dazed, like she'd spent the night doing just what she had.

"I'd like to hit the road before too long," I said.

She stretched luxuriously, then lifted the sleeping bag's cover enough to give me an alluring glimpse inside.

"Sure you don't want to come back in?" she said.

"Soon, don't worry. I need a break. I'm out of shape for that kind of thing."

"Me, too," she said, a little shyly.

She'd seemed as hungry as me, that was for sure, and it pleased me to know that I wasn't sharing her with Balcomb.

She took the coffee mug, sipped, and grimaced.

"That woke me up," she said.

"There's sugar if you want it, and that nondairy creamer stuff."

"This is fine. Where are we going?"

"The Hi-Line. Up near the Canadian border."

Her face turned puzzled. "What's up there?"

"Kirk had a place in the Sweet Grass Hills. I want to look around it."

"Kirk? What's he got to do with this?"

"I'll tell you on the way." I started toward the fire to make a cup of coffee for myself.

"So you really did kill him," she said.

I managed not to turn around too fast. She smiled, like she was teasing me. I hoped so. The way she seemed to know things I couldn't explain was very unsettling.

"Where'd you come up with that?" I said.

She shrugged. "Just a feeling. You want to go there to make peace with him somehow."

Going to Kirk's didn't have anything to do with that-I would have sworn it on a stack of Bibles. But I felt that prickling in my scalp again.

"Sure, I killed him," I said. "That's the real reason I wanted to go to the sheriffs last night. Tell them all about it and get myself thrown in prison."

"All right, that was dumb. I just don't want you fooling around with any other ghosts. Laying them is what they say, you know."

"We're not at all sure Kirk is a ghost, and he's not my type, anyway." I leaned inside the van and kissed her. "Besides, the one I've got's already more than I can handle."

She bit my ear, not too hard, but not too soft, either.

"You do possess a certain rough-hewn charm," she murmured. "Where can a girl get a bath around here?"

I held Hannah's down coat for her while she slipped demurely into it, then led her to the creek. The water was icy and this wasn't a sunny afternoon when you could jump in for a pleasant shock and then lazily warm yourself, so I showed her how to take a cowboy bath, crouching on the bank with a bar of soap and splashing face, armpits, and crotch, without getting in and freezing completely.

It was still very cold. She watched me skeptically, staying huddled up in the coat. I toweled off with a denim jacket of Madbird's I'd found in the van, then reversed it and gave it to her. The inside was flannel and a lot softer, although it smelled about the same. She took it gingerly, like she'd decided that being a little gamy wasn't so bad after all. But while I got dressed, she started rummaging through Hannah's magic satchel. She took out a little makeup kit and then a new packet of panties. They didn't look dainty, more like the everyday white cotton variety, and she examined them critically.

"Looks like Hannah got you covered for every contingency," I said.

"Well, these aren't the kinds of things I'd pick. But they'll do until I can get my own."

"Hey, no problem. There's a Bloomingdale's just down the road."

She gave me a contrite glance. "I didn't mean to sound rude. It's very sweet of her."

Probably no woman, in her heart, ever really approved of any other woman's taste. I walked to the campsite to clean up.

Apparently she found her nerve-when she came back she looked cold and damp, but fresh. She got into the van to dress. I heard the sound of plastic tearing, then the snap of elastic.

"Hannah and I are about the same size," she said. A minute later she got out, walked around to the van's side mirror, and started putting on lip gloss.

I was stowing the last of the gear when I heard a little clatter. I glanced at her and realized that she'd dropped the makeup kit. But instead of bending to pick it up, she was staring into the woods.

A man was walking out of the trees toward us. He was dressed in outdoors clothing that looked like it had just come off the shelf at Cabela's, and otherwise was completely ordinary-looking.

Except that he was carrying a leveled rifle.

As John Doe advanced, staring back at Laurie, his forefinger rose to tap menacingly beneath his right eye. It stood out like a stoplight, bloodred around the pupil.

Her knees gave a little kick like they were going to buckle. I stood stunned, with a single realization burning through my numbness-there was only one conceivable way he could have found us.

Madbird.

My great old friend had contacted Wesley Balcomb and turned Laurie and me into cash.