A Dark Autumn Page 7

  Lucy cleared her throat. “Michelle’s right. Do you think we can…just…go on like we didn’t do anything?”

  “Of course we can,” Helen snapped back. “I can, so why wouldn’t you able to?”

  “We forced ourselves on him!” Lucy shoved her arms into her shirt, and jerked it over her head. When the shirt passed her eyes and her view was no longer obstructed, Helen was glaring down on her. Lucy gasped.

  “You shut your fucking mouth! We didn’t do anything he didn’t want us to! That is the truth.”

  Lucy felt the heat of her words, the warm saliva as it spattered her face.

  Michelle stood up, her exposed flesh the color of candlelight. “He didn’t want us to do that…we just…did it.”

  “Yes, we did. Even you. And, who gives a shit? Who really gives a shit?” Helen shook her head, and took another swig from the bottle. “What do you think he’s going to do? Tell on us? Do you think a man would be willing to admit that four little girls got the better of him? And, the fact that he’s gay… Who would believe him?”

  “You think he’s gay now?” asked Michelle.

  “Fuck if he is or not. No one will believe him.”

  Lucy wanted to quarrel some more, but there was no point in doing so. Besides, through all of Helen’s psychotic babblings she had made some valid points, and Lucy had to admit they all made sense. Who would he tell? Why would he tell? Every man she’d ever known was cursed by their stubborn pride, even the ones that hardly seemed to be men at all. She doubted any of them would report being assaulted by four women, and doubted even more that Ricky would.

  Lucy was confident they were in the clear.

  When she turned around to profess her agreement with Helen, she saw a flash of movement. She felt the rugged tread of a boot bracket her throat. Inside her throat something imploded.

  Then she couldn’t breathe.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Michelle’s attention was focused on Helen when Ricky kicked Lucy, catching them all by surprise. She’d doubted he would have ever recovered from this, and definitely hadn’t expected him to fight back. He seemed like too timid of a guy, someone who avoided confrontations. She guessed anyone in his situation probably came to a split in the road where they could go in either direction, and Ricky chose to retaliate.

  Lucy took the brunt of the kick on her throat. She fell backwards, her legs shooting upward as she rolled onto her stomach. When she sat up, her hands were slapping at her throat, her eyes wide as golf balls.

  Ricky shoved Helen. Her feet tangled together, locking her legs at the knees. There was nothing she could do to keep herself up, and down she went.

  Amanda screamed, back-stepping as Ricky approached. She wasn’t fast enough, obviously from how sore she was. He backhanded her. The slap was louder than her screams. She landed on her knees and then was kicked.

  Michelle had to do something. Had to stop him. She looked around. There weren’t any weapons, nothing that was powerful enough. And she definitely wasn’t strong enough to take him on by hand.

  Hugging her stomach, Amanda groaned behind her sobs. Ricky planted another solid kick between her breasts. She made a horrible rasp as the air blasted from her lungs.

  Michelle continued to look for something to stop him with. There was nothing. She considered running into the woods, breaking a branch from one of the trees, but she was naked and dreaded going out there without any clothes on. Her head whisked this way and that until her eyes spotted something.

  Rocks.

  There was a circle around the campfire of bludgeoning weapons. Why hadn’t she thought of them sooner?

  She broke for them, dropped to her knees and curved her hands around the closest one while heavy slapping sounds and Amanda’s cries resonated from behind her. Michelle’s skin sizzled when it touched the rock. It burned. But she didn’t let it stop her. She heaved it up. Carrying the rock with both hands, she charged over to Ricky as he was raising his leg to what looked like stomp on Amanda’s head.

  Then she revved her arms back and brought it down.

  Ricky was a foot taller than Michelle, but the rock connected with the back of his skull making a wet cracking sound. His head knocked forward, then his body followed. He turned a half circle and fell. He landed on the campfire. Cherry red ashes sprayed out from under him as he quickly rolled off and onto ground, where he remained motionless. His clothes were patched with charred areas, fuming smoke from the black grunge.

  Michelle dropped the rock.

  As she allowed her breath to steady, Helen’s screams faded through. Michelle forced herself to look away from Ricky’s cataleptic form. To the right of her, Helen was squatting beside Lucy who sat with her back against a tree. She was grabbing at Helen’s shoulders, making the most frantic and disturbing asthmatic gulps she’d ever heard.

  Michelle quickly went to them, careful not to step on any of the hot ashes that had peppered the ground. She hoped another fire wouldn’t start, because they had no way of putting it out if one did. As she neared Lucy, she saw why she’d been making such horrible sounds.

  The front of her throat was dented inward. Her neck was bruised in a booted footprint pattern, and her face was dark blue. The color of her eyes was drowning in the bulging whites.

  Michelle gasped. She grabbed her own throat in response.

  Helen’s eyes were raining. Fresh beads of tears clung to her jawbone. “She’s fucking suffocating!”

  “What should we do?” cried Michelle.

  Lucy tried to answer, but only produced wet shrieks that sounded as if they were coming through a distorted speaker. Her arms had lost their frenzied lilt, and when she pointed at her throat, even that looked to have been a nearly impossible feat.

  Michelle watched as Lucy’s chest moved up and down, but didn’t hear any air being pulled in. Then it looked as if her chest was starting to bloat.

  It was her lungs, Michelle realized, about to burst.

  “There’s nothing we can do,” Helen finally answered.

  Lucy struggled to breathe another few agonizingly slow moments before her hands slapped the ground. She looked toward the fire, then at Michelle and Helen as if imploring one last time for their help.

  Then her head canted to the side. She no longer moved, nor did she try to breathe.

  She was dead.

  Michelle’s legs went weak and stringy. She dropped to her knees, bracing herself up with a hand on the ground. She could hardly breathe. Her heart was beating too fast, and everything around her looked as if she was seeing it through a glass of water.

  She could faintly hear Amanda crying from behind her.

  “He… He’s gone…”

  Michelle slowly raised her head, looking at Helen to see what she had said. When she saw Helen’s puzzled expression, she realized it wasn’t Helen that had spoken. In unison, they turned around.

  Amanda was standing on top of Ricky.

  No…not on top of him… She was standing where he should have been, but where his body had landed was now unoccupied.

  Ricky had escaped.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The sun sparkled off the dew-slick trees, casting a golden glow in the light mist as it rose above the clouds. Michelle was on her way back to the campsite with blankets, trash bags and duct tape. She had applied a layer of aloe to the blisters on her burned hand, then wrapped it with gauze from the medicine cabinet. It felt better, but not by much.

  After they’d discovered Ricky had fled, they spent some time searching, but didn’t find him. Helen suggested they wait until sunrise to search again.

  I don’t understand why she wants to look for him at all.

  Actually, she did know, but had chosen not to ask.

  Helen wanted to kill him.

  She hadn’t stated so, but Michelle had known Helen long enough to understand the workings of her mind. Some of the workings, anyway. Ricky had killed Lucy, and if he was man enough to do that, then he was definitely man en
ough to get the police involved.

  Let him, thought Michelle. We all deserve to go to jail.

  Then she thought about Lucy, and how she’d died. It had been painful to watch, and Michelle could only imagine how it had felt. It was a terrible way to go. All of them deserved some kind of punishment, but not to have their throats kicked in. But could she really endure prison? Michelle tried to visualize spending time in a box of a room, barred from her normal life, wearing an orange jumpsuit, and going without makeup and decent soaps and shampoos. Plus, the food would be terrible, and the other inmates might make her time spent there even worse.

  I could end up someone’s whore, she thought.

  Just the idea of having to be someone’s lover made her stomach roll. Guess it wouldn’t be much different than what Helen and I did last night. Her stomach constricted on itself as she remembered Helen’s lips around her nipples, her own hands cupping Helen’s breasts and massaging them.

  She rubbed her hand across her aching belly. The fabric of her shirt felt dirty and soiled. My stomach could be acting up because I’m hungry. It was odd to her that her appetite was still strong with all that was going on, or with all that might happen. She craved some bacon and eggs, maybe even some grits. Her stomach grumbled in agreement. Michelle pictured the full carton of eggs and unopened pack of bacon waiting for her back at the cabin in the refrigerator.

  She was tempted to turn around.

  There was a snap in the woods to her right. Michelle’s heart slammed her breath out through her nose. She halted her step, looking toward the woods where the sound had come from.

  Listening.

  All she could hear was the faint rustle of leaves as a breeze stirred the trees. A few leaves waved down from above her, grazing her shoulders on their way to the ground. She listened a moment longer, then started walking again.

  But she heard it again. Closer this time. Louder.

  Definitely a footstep, she thought.

  Was it Ricky? Had he been hiding in the woods all this time, waiting for them to make a mistake? Such as the one she’d made by going back to the house to get something to wrap Lucy’s body in while the others slept? Yeah, exactly like that. She realized it was dumb to have gone back to the cabin alone, and couldn’t believe she had been contemplating doing it again for some food. But as she was lying by the dwindling campfire, staring up at the sky as the moon crossed to make way for the sun, she couldn’t handle the hushed tranquility of nature. It felt too good and wholesome after what they had done, after what had been done to them.

  So, she’d dressed, then hiked back to the cabin. Not once had she worried Ricky might jump out at her, or attack the others while she was gone. But now it seemed like the most probable scenario.

  He’s gotten them, and now he’s waiting for me.

  She stopped walking again, slowly turning in a circle. Trees waved past her. No sign of Ricky. She took a deep breath, turned around, and screamed when she bumped into someone. Michelle dropped the blankets. They landed in a heap at her feet, the roll of duct rape flattening the pile.

  It was Helen. Amanda stood by a tree at the bend in the trail.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” she interrogated.

  “I went back to the cabin.”

  “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “I…” Michelle didn’t like the way Helen was questioning her. It wasn’t her choice of words, but the choice of tone. There was accusation behind the foul words. “I went to get some blankets…and tape.”

  Helen grimaced as if she smelled something awful. “Why would we need that?”

  “For Lucy.”

  “Lucy’s dead sweetheart, I don’t think she’ll be using them.”

  Michelle’s hand had shot out before she even realized it was going to and slapped Helen across the cheek. She looked at Michelle as she raised her hand to the red spot, her mouth yawning a surprise.

  “Suh-sorry…” Michelle stammered.

  Helen shook her head. “Don’t be… I was out of line.”

  “Well…I still shouldn’t have slapped you.”

  Helen delicately rubbed Michelle’s handprint. She locked her jaw and stretched her mouth from side to side as if trying to get the feeling back in her face. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

  Sighing, Michelle squatted down and scooped up the blankets, leaving the roll of tape on top. She bundled them into a gaudy ball of fabric. “I went and got this stuff so we can wrap Lucy’s body. I can’t stand that…that look in her eyes…”

  Helen nodded. “Okay. But next time, let us know before you take off like that. With Ricky out there…” She took a deep breath. “None of us should wander anywhere alone right now.”

  Michelle nodded, and together they walked back to the campsite.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Britt finished urinating, tapped and zipped his pants. Using the heel of his shoe, he pushed down on the urinal’s lever to flush. Nothing happened. He tried one more time before giving up. He walked to the sink. Standing in front of the mirror, he glanced at the soap dispenser and saw it was empty. Then he stuck his hand in the paper towel block and felt nothing but aluminum.

  No water, no soap, no paper towels. Great.

  He’d taken the ramp off the highway when he saw the Rest Area sign. Away from the road and private, the roof was missing shingles and the screens over the windows were ripped and tattered, flapping in the breeze like feathers. It was a small shoebox of a building, old tanned bricks with two doors. One was for gents and the other ladies. The gents’ restroom had two urinals and two stalls and two sinks.

  Everything in twos, but none of it works.

  He sighed.

  Britt looked at the tired young man in the glass and declared he needed a shave, some better sleep, and a haircut would do him some good as well. He formed an L-shape with his thumb and forefinger and held it to the reflection like a gun. “Psshew,” he huffed. Then he raised his finger to his mouth and blew it as if it was smoking.

  Smiling, he left the restroom.

  At his truck, he leaned inside the cab and reached into the console for his hand sanitizer. He squirted a nickel-sized dab in his palm, and rubbed his hands together until they felt dry. Then he leaned against the truck, checking the time on his cell-phone.

  8:11

  He’d been driving for almost two hours, and still had a decent ways ahead of him. He scrolled through the recent calls, found Michelle’s name and thumbed the send button. He put the phone to his ear, and listened.

  Voicemail.

  Hi. You’ve reached Michelle, sorry I didn’t answer, but I’m probably talking to someone on the other line and haven’t figured out how to switch over to another call. Please leave me a message and I’ll call you back A.S.A.P. Bye!

  This time it hadn’t even rung. This meant she either had the phone off, or was out of the service area. A knot formed in his gut. He tried to ignore it, but something just wasn’t sitting well with him. Why wasn’t she answering the phone? Why hadn’t she at least called to tell him good night, or good morning?

  Something’s going on. He shook his head. He didn’t need his mind to start wandering. If it did, he’d never get it to stop.

  Britt tossed the phone into the truck. It landed on the passenger seat.

  Then he climbed in.

  The map he’d bought at the gas station when he filled the truck up sat on top of the dash. It had slid into the groove between the paneling and windshield. He grabbed it, then unfolded it on the steering wheel. Times like these he wished he had a GPS in his truck like the one Michelle had. He could have programmed the address into the menu and let it talk him there. Oh, well… Britt was just fine without it. Using those things took some of the fun out of traveling anyway.

  He put his finger on the paper, gliding it along Highway 95. He’d passed the exit for Chinowa Falls two miles back. He found it on the map, then traced the highway until he found the parkway. Ninety-five miles to go. Th
en on the parkway he had…

  Wait a second…

  Judging the map, there looked to be two ways he could take to Black Mountain. One road had dotted lines (unpaved) making up forty percent of it with green blots on each side the entire way (woods), and the other had some of the most dangerous looking curves he’d ever seen on a map. Neither route seemed sensible, especially considering he’d never been there before. But he also realized that on the other side of those scary curves were steep drop-offs.

  So, he decided on the dotted path. If he put the truck in four-wheel drive he should be fine. As he folded the map, he began to wonder if coming out here had been a good idea. What if he got there and Michelle became angry with him for surprising her?

  Or, what if she had another guy with her?

  Something pinched in his chest. He didn’t even want to consider the second thought as a possibility, but the fact that she wasn’t answering her phone made it hard not to.

  Britt finished his cigarette and flicked it into the parking lot. It hit the pavement, exploding into ash as it bounced. Then he flung the map back on the dash, and shut the door. He fired the engine, put it in reverse and backed out of the parking spot.

  Back on the highway, he drove in silence with the radio cut down. He wanted his mind free of distractions as he traveled the rest of the way.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ricky’s cabin sat behind two giant trees, the colorful branches drooping over the roof and hanging in front of the framed structure like curtains trying to conceal it. Leaves littered the ground in ankle-deep heaps, sounding like ripping paper as Michelle closed the gap between her and Amanda. Helen was leading the way, and appeared to be in a world all her own, oblivious to them behind her.

  After Michelle met up with Helen and Amanda in the woods, they’d all walked back to the campsite together, and on the way Helen had expounded her plan to Michelle, and even now she didn’t like it. What Helen had suggested—demanded—that they do was horrible.

  They weren’t savages.