RUNAWAY TWINS and RUNAWAY TWINS IN ALASKA: BOXED SET (27 page)

"You would," said Justin.

Rachel hugged her gentle sister. "Would you rather it was us lying there covered with flies, waiting for the buzzards?"

Janie put her head on Rachel's shoulder. "Sad, cruel world."

The Yuktapah in this region
was fast moving and unpredictable, but it looked to be navigable; and Rachel watched the flow.

"No debris from the eruption up this far," she said. "Wonder how free it is downstream?"

"One way to find out," said Justin.

"Swim?"

"Raft."

"Wait a minute," said Rachel. "We're not Jim and Huck. They had the Mississippi—and a large raft. We've got a mountain river. Might be rapids down there."

"Might be," said Justin. "As for the raft, we can build one."

"You know how?" Janie asked.

"Yep."

"Of course you do."

Justin pointed to a large accumulation of driftwood piled well back from the bank on their side of the river about a hundred yards ahead. "That's where we start."

He explained his overall plan and told them to feel free at any time to suggest their own ideas. He knew how to build a raft, but he was far from an expert and would welcome their input.

Everyone was glad the driftwood was not on the other side of the Yuktapah, because no one relished getting soaked again during what might prove to be a difficult crossing.

The first step was to find two long round logs—the smoother the better—to use as runners, half in and half out of the water. The interns would build their raft on top of these logs so they could slide it easily into the water when they were finished.

Next, after instructing the girls to find as many logs of relatively equal length and size as they could, Justin disappeared into the woods to cut strips from green saplings and from the inner bark of cottonwood, fir, and birch trees to use as fiber to braid into ropes to tie the logs together. When he returned he was pleased to see that Rachel and Janie had managed to drag a dozen promising driftwood logs close to the runners.

"Good, good," he said, dumping his pile of rope braiding material beside the logs. "Now let me show one of you how to make rope, and two of us will start positioning the logs."

The entire project took half a day and when it was finished they stood a few feet away and critiqued their work.

The raft, resting precariously on the runners, was about five feet wide and six feet long—though precise dimensions were not easy to calculate since few of the logs were of equal length. They'd placed a crossbar front and a crossbar rear for stability, and even a sternpost with a notch to hold their rudder. The whole structure seemed tied together securely with their makeshift rope, and when they kicked it, shook it, and abused it, it didn't appear inclined to fall apart.

"Will it float?" asked Janie.

"Will it hold together?" asked Rachel.

"Let's find out," said Justin.

They scooted it down the runners and into the river and cheered as it bobbed and weaved and then steadied in the water.

"We need a bottle of champagne," said Rachel.

"We need to climb aboard," said Justin, "before it leaves without us."

At the Bilboa and Barnes
hunters' camp, the two remaining usurpers sat comfortably in deck chairs, devouring the left over sow meat that had been cooked by the outfitters.

"Nice of those boys to think of us," said Mike.

Joe tore off a large chunk of meat with his teeth. "Very nice. Have to thank them some day."

"Have to be in the next life," Mike said, laughing.

"Might be sooner than you think," said a voice from the edge of the woods.

Mike and Joe put down their feast and jumped to their feet. They strained to see who had spoken, but their attention was diverted by the fifty caliber Smith and Wesson revolver the visitor held in his hand. The nickel-plated bear-killing weapon shone in the rays of the afternoon sun.

"Hello, Jack," said Idaho Joe, finally. "Thought you were dead."

Jack from Washington, Ernie's partner, strode into the campground. "You didn't bother to search for me." His face was splotchy with filth and covered with contusions and cuts. His clothes were torn, and he limped forward as if favoring his left leg.

"You look like you fell into the volcano and it spit you back out," said Joe.

"You didn't search for me," Jack repeated, waving the monster gun he'd taken from the armory tent.

Montana Mike said, "We called to you fifty times. You fell over a hundred-foot cliff. What were we supposed to think…or do?"

"Come find me. I was semi-conscious. I heard you, but I couldn't answer." He looked around. "Where's Ernie?"

"Buried under the bank of the river in a cave," said Joe. "Grizzly got him."

Jack nodded. "The hunters?"

"Buried with Ernie.
We
got them."

While Joe was speaking, Mike was in the process of slipping his hand behind his back where he carried the forty-five he'd stolen from the outfitter's stash. And just as Jack began to lower the giant revolver, Mike snatched the automatic from his waistband and raised it toward his former teammate. But it was the last action Mike would take in this life, for Jack caught the movement in the corner of his eye and fired the Smith and Wesson from his hip. The giant slug caught Mike square in the chest, lifted him in the air and threw him ten feet backwards.

Joe took advantage of the battle, yanked his pistol from his pocket, and shot Jack between the eyes.

When the smoke of the gunshots cleared, Joe surveyed the situation. He was now alone, and he had two more bodies to deal with. He'd better move fast. Rescue personnel might arrive at any moment, and he'd have some tall explaining to do with two bullet-ridden stiffs on his hands. He dragged them to the cave under the nearby bank of the Yuktapah, made certain the area was policed, and then returned to tidy up the Bilboa and Barnes site.

If he was to be the lone survivor of the terrible earthquake and volcanic eruption, he had to prepare the scene.

25
Deer Lodge Redux

J.J. Flack, the Prophet of
God's Way Temple née Sheba Hill Temple, reflected on all he had lost as he appraised his small cell in Montana's State Prison. His hatchet face darkened, and he wished he could personally destroy those who were responsible for his fate—hurt them, crush them. They had ruined all that his father, grandfather, and he had patiently built up over seventy-five years of dedicated service to God. He slammed the wall with his fist, ignoring the pain, imagining he had broken the facial bones of the self-righteous Montana Attorney General who had prosecuted him, who had labeled the Sheba Hill Temple a dungeon of forced marriage and child rape. What did the A.G. or the judge or the jury know of the will of God regarding the heavenly construction of families?

Nevertheless, the Prophet smiled in spite of his anger. He might not have his young wives around him any longer, his flock might be scattered, the operations in Montana, Texas, and Colorado might be defunct; but he had the fast-growing congregation in Whitehorse, YT, CA; and he still controlled the international purse strings. And he knew how to use the money to retain power—power to get what he wanted. And at the top of his list were three things, a new trial, victory in that trial, and the fourteen-year-old Lemon twins waiting for him when he got out.

Others among his prison associates doubted his ability to accomplish these goals (he could tell from their expressions and from their less-than-enthusiastic responses). But they didn't understand the universal appeal of money as he did. Spread enough of it around…and in the right places and anything was possible.

He'd been on the phone to Missoula, Anchorage, Fairbanks and Whitehorse; and his reaction to his calls was mixed. He was satisfied he'd done all he could, had primed the right pumps, yet he still had no idea where things stood. No word from the wilderness. No confirmation as to who was alive and who was dead. But the Whitehorse men had connected with a rescue team, the Fairbanks airport men were still in place, and the Hawker Siddeley HS 748 was still on the tarmac and would be as long as he injected money into the cargo company's coffers.

As to Idaho Joe and his three helpers—no way to know. But they were all top-notch crooks and Joe the best of all; so if it was possible to complete their assignment, Joe would see to it.

The Prophet went to stand by the barred window in the back of his cell. He could see the open country stretching for miles within his limited field of vision. How much longer? he thought. How much longer until he could once again move freely and enjoy all that God was preparing for him?

26
Rough Water

Janie clung to the front
of the logs with her hands and arms while attempting to lock her boots into the irregular spaces at the back where the vine-ropes hadn't been able to close the gaps. She knew Justin and Rachel were using similar means to try to stay aboard while the raft rushed through the whitewater.

Justin shouted above the noise, "People pay money to ride rapids like these!" But though he was affecting a lack of concern, Janie could feel the tension in his body next to her as he rolled, twisted, and strained to prevent himself and his companions from being thrown into the roiling river.

On the opposite side of the raft, Rachel called out, "You okay, Janie?"

"So far!"

Janie lifted her head to get a glimpse of what lay ahead to see if she could estimate how much longer they would have to endure the ride. In a matter of minutes one of them would be in the water, or the raft itself would tear apart and they'd all be swimming for their lives. There seemed to be no end ahead of the spray, mist, and waves; so she braced for a bumpy voyage.

She felt her left boot slip out of the crack between the logs and realized her left arm was dragging in the water. Then her left leg was wet also and she was horrified to see she was sliding into the river. A strong shock and she would bounce in the air, lose all control, and fall overboard.

The shock came quickly. Her entire body rose a foot off the raft and she was sure the next sensation she would feel would be the icy waters of the Yuktapah. She screamed, took a deep breath, and prepared for the plunge.

It never came, for Justin was now on his knees with his arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. He yanked her back onto the raft, held her securely, and yelled, "Hey, this is no time for a swim!"

And then they were out of the whitewater. The noise abated, the river ran peacefully, and the teenagers grinned at each other.

"Raft held up," said Rachel. "If it didn't fall apart back there, it'll last forever."

"Or at least until we get to the bend in the Yuktapah," said Justin.

"What if the two fishermen are there?" asked Janie.

"We'll reconnoiter first," said Justin. "Hopefully they're lying dead back in the wildfire, but if they're around, we'll wait and then try to steal a canoe."

An hour later they passed the sandspit where the four fishermen had precariously pitched their camp. The river was still swollen in the area to twice its previous width, and there was no sign of any tents or equipment.

"Like it never existed," said Justin.

"The Yuktapah giveth and the Yuktapah taketh away," said Janie.

"What a bunch of jerks," said Rachel.

"Smaller bunch now," said Justin, "and maybe no bunch at all."

"How much longer till we get to the outfitters' camp?" asked Rachel.

Justin paused. "Maybe forty minutes. We'll beach this thing ten minutes out and hike in, just in case."

But thirty minutes later when it came time to gain the shore, the task was not as easy as Justin thought. The slope of the bank on the west side of the river in this area was steep, and stopping the raft and scrambling up to dry ground was not a simple proposition. Finally, Justin reached out with one hand and grabbed a protruding root while both girls clutched his other wrist. He then leapt onto the angled bank and pulled the raft tightly against the shore. The twins followed on his heels, and the empty raft drifted back to the center of the stream.

"Teamwork," said Justin, when they reached the top. "Good show."

"What now?" asked Janie.

"Follow the river at a safe distance, stay quiet, grab a canoe, don't hang around the hunters' camp a second longer than we have to."

They were forced to hike in the thicket that ran alongside the Yuktapah, for every time they tried to veer toward open country, the river darted off in the wrong direction and they couldn't maintain a parallel path. The thorns, brush, and the low-lying branches scratched and cut their bodies, and Justin suggested they move back down the rise toward the river. "Maybe that high bank is gone and there's a bit of beach to walk on."

They turned back to the river but found the conditions identical to what they left, so they reentered the thicket.

"A machete would be nice," said Justin, "to hack our way through this crud."

Rachel laughed. "How about a paved road and a taxi…as long as we're wishing for stuff."

Their ten-minute trek took over an hour, and when at last they caught sight of the bend in the Yuktapah and the tents of the camp, they were exhausted. On the positive side, the thicket was disappearing and they could now move freely.

Justin put his hand to his mouth to indicate they shouldn't speak from this point on; and he took several short careful steps to show how they should proceed.

After several minutes, he signaled for a halt, motioned for a huddle, and whispered, "Don't see anyone or hear anything. We may be okay."

The canoes were sticking out over the upper bank where they had been lifted for safety in the original campsite planning. "Shouldn't be too hard to drag one down," Rachel said softly.

They headed toward the canoes, and then Janie called for another halt and huddle. "Wait a minute," she said. "There's no one here. Why don't we grab some food, toss it in the canoe for the trip? Only take a few seconds."