The Gorge

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Bowie had slept maybe three hours total, but he’d only dreamt of Connie once. In the rest of his dreams, he’d been running a kayak down the Unegama in a Class III stretch popularly known as “Beaver’s Lick.” Class III waters were challenging for a beginner, and even carried a slight risk of injury or death, but such a run was nothing to an experienced paddler. In the dream, however, everything went wrong. Bowie’s paddle acted as if it were stirring molasses, the kayak took on water, and he found himself broadsiding boulders and getting caught in ripples. Worse, it had begun to rain, and Bowie couldn’t seem to make shore.

He awoke before dark, more tired than rested, his legs and lower back sore from the hike. The best way to get loose was to get moving, so he rolled up his sleeping bag and carried his clothes into the woods. The first birds were mouthing off about the start of another great day in the wonderful world, and nocturnal animals scuffed leaves as they returned to their daytime hiding holes. Bowie stripped nude and was about to wriggle into his water-resistant SealSkinz when a twig snapped behind him.

He turned, squinting into the underbrush, instinctively dropping the loose clothing in front of his crotch. “Hello?”

Dove Krueger laughed. “Your ass is so white, I thought it was a full moon.”

“Very funny. What are you doing out here?”

“When nature calls, there’s only one answer.”

“It’s a half hour before sunup. Why don’t you get some more sleep?”

“I’m not sleepy,” she said, her voice closer now. The forest was expectant with the coming day, right on the threshold of full life, but for the moment, the world hung in that eerie half light between night and morning.

She stepped out of the shadows into the lesser gray, moved his hands away, and felt for him. Her breath was warm on his cheek, and though he couldn’t quite make out her face, he could picture it as plainly as a photograph. She had washed, and smelled earthy, like chamomile and mint.

“An early riser, like always,” she murmured with approval.

“Dove. We’re done with that, remember?”

“Feels like we’re just starting.” She grabbed his right wrist and guided his hand to the front of her sheer cotton gown. Her nipples were bare and hard beneath the fabric.

“We’re done with that,” he said, though the words almost stuck in his throat.

She didn’t slow her stroking, and he didn’t pull his hand away, though he kept it still. Her lips touched his neck and her hair fell soft against the skin of his shoulder. The contrast of her heat against the morning chill raised gooseflesh along his back.

“Dove,” he whispered, and it took all of his willpower to step away. The first hint of red painted the sky in the east, and he thought of that old nautical saying, “Red sky at morning, sailors taking warning.” The birds were louder now, and the muted music of the falls provided a peaceful backdrop. This, the moment before true dawn, was one of the points where the fabric of reality was the thinnest, when order was at its most vulnerable, when reason fled.

He could see the outline of her body now. The cotton, damp from the night river air, clung to her form, her black hair loose and tangled around her face. “You’d better get back to camp before the others wake up,” he said.

“Because they’ll talk, and maybe lose respect for you, and the test run will be compromised,” she said. “The mission comes first. Duty calls, and all that other macho horseshit.”

“It’s not that. It’s-”

“She’s dead. You told me that yourself, even if you don’t believe it yet. I can’t make you believe it, either. That’s something inside you. But you don’t have to suffer forever because of it.”

“You promised never to bring that up.”

“I’m a woman. What’s a promise when it stands between me and what I want?”

She was right. He knew, once he’d told her about his loss, she’d eventually find a way to use it against him. He’d suffered a moment of weakness, and any outdoor adventurer knew it was those moments of weakness that killed. He feared another such moment now.

“I don’t regret what we did in the Adirondacks,” he said, speaking faster now, fearing the yawning power of the timeless and frozen dawn. “But it’s done. We met at a bad time for both of us and-”

“Shut up,” she said. “It was only the right time.”

She was on him again, and this time he didn’t fight it. His body was taking over, tricking him, and his hands roamed over her curves, then lifted the gown up and over her head. It fell to the ground, and she lowered herself, kneeling on the fabric. The distant, gentle throb of the falls provided a primitive sound track to her action as she took him in her mouth. Unbidden, Farrengalli’s bellow entered his head: It’s only fuckin’ naturalllll…

“Dove, stop,” he said, though his hands betrayed him by reaching for her hair and urging her head forward.

After ten seconds of sweet torture, she backed off and said, “Stop now?”

“Damn you.”

In the dimness of approaching morning, he saw the gleam of her grin. Then her mouth was busy again, but Bowie had other ideas. He pressed her shoulders and eased down beside her until they were lying side-by-side on their discarded clothes. Leaves scratched at his bare skin, but he scarcely noticed. His senses were consumed by the heat at the center of her body, the seat of her soul, the moist, inviting tunnel that demanded exploration. He tongued and caressed her until she mewled; then she gouged her fingernails into his back and pulled him on top of her. She rubbed his aching hardness against her damp opening, then guided him inside. It fit like always, like new. She arched her back, throwing herself up to meet his slow penetration.

“I don’t love you,” he whispered, biting her ear.

She timed her words with his thrusts. “I… never… wanted… you… to.”

“Good.” Her neck was slightly salty and her hair smelled of wood smoke, with a hint of rosemary and mint. He tasted it again just to be sure.

“You’ve gotten better. Have you been practicing?”

“Does my hand count?”

“I want this to last.”

“Three days.”

“No, I mean you. This.”

He shut her up by putting his tongue in her mouth. She hadn’t brushed her teeth, but neither had he. Nature didn’t care. Nature didn’t even notice.

She rolled him over and sat astride his hips. The light was better now and he gazed into her half-lidded eyes. He wondered what she was thinking about, figured nothing, and decided he didn’t want to think, either. He moved with her, against her, around, and she leaned down so her nipples brushed against his as she rocked back and forth.

“The others can’t know about this,” Bowie said.

She stopped moving. “Stop now?”

He pushed up against her. His back was no longer sore. His back had never been better. His legs were fine, too. Other things were improving by the minute.

He reached for her hips so he could control her movements, but he didn’t need force. They were already in synch, grinding out a rhythm as old as the river. Their sweat sprang against the September air, enhancing the slickness between them.

From the camp came Farrengalli’s voice, calling out for Bowie. He wondered if anyone would come this way to heed the call of nature. He smiled. He didn’t give a fuck. Well, he only gave one fuck.

“Are you close?” she whispered, slowing until her motion was almost imperceptible, a blissful Sisyphus stone pushed to the mountain peak.

“You wanted this to last.”

“We’ve got a river to run.”

“The river will still be there.”

“Do you love me yet?”

“Never, bitch.”

“Finish me, asshole,” she whispered, and her words harmonized with the sibilant wash of the Unegama.

Her movements became more urgent, and Bowie was all too familiar with the quickened breath, the slitted, almost reptilian eyes, and the pinking of her cheeks. Her climax coincided with the splintered arrival of the sun, and she bit his shoulder to keep from crying out. The pain turned strange in Bowie’s brain, combining with the rush of primal joy that coursed up from his toes. She sensed his approach and writhed away in silent passion, whimpers squeezing between the teeth that sank deeper into his flesh. His entire body became a giant, throbbing organ and he exploded like the dawn.

Dove collapsed on top of him in a twin pounding of hearts. She relaxed her mouth and let her head drop against his shoulder. Wetness tickled the skin under his arm and her breath made a soft breeze against his neck. His hands slid from her hips to the small of her back. At the volcanic center where they were joined, Bowie couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. Like always.

“I lied,” he said when the treetops stopped spinning.

“I know,” she said. She lifted her face to look at him. Her mouth was smeared with his blood.

“Hungry?”

“Not anymore.”

The leaves scratched his back and his legs. One of his feet was planted against a stump. An ant crawled along his hip and he twitched, causing Dove’s breasts to wiggle against his chest.

“Again already?” she asked with a grin. She licked the blood from her lips.

“They’ll be wondering where we are.”

“Let them.”

He took her by the arms, rolled her to the side, and reached for his SealSkinz. “Let me go first. You come in two minutes.”

She giggled. “I may be easy but I’m not that fast.”

“Very funny. Sorry I called you a ‘bitch.’” He wrestled his legs into the tight, water-resistant SealSkinz.

“I’m used to it.” She had her own waterproof outfit, an older model that was scuffed and frayed, sky blue with a broad yellow stripe down the middle. “By the way, which lie did you tell this time?”

“Does it matter?” He adjusted his crotch inside the SealSkinz and rolled the single piece the rest of the way up his torso, stretching the rubberized fabric. He’d only been with one woman since the last time with Dove. During his marriage, he’d averaged ten times a week. Now, he realized with dismay, he was lucky to get lucky once a year. He apologized to his penis for the hibernation, though it was fairly content and dreaming at the moment.

“See you at launch,” he said, walking the perimeter of the clearing so he and Dove wouldn’t exit from the same point and arouse suspicion.