The Truth of the Matter (16 page)

“Nope. That water’s so dirty they wouldn’t even be able to look down and see anything under it from a plane or helicopter. In a few days they’ll probably think we drove past the roadblocks somehow and kept heading west.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Roebuck was pleased to see the hint of uncertainty in Ellie. He threw away the stick he was carrying and switched the small plaid suitcase to his other hand. “We’ll make camp about sundown,” he said in a voice of authority.

“I never thought about that,” Ellie said. “I mean, sleeping in the woods.”

“Nothing to be afraid of. During the war five of us got shot down in a bomber and walked all the way across France, keeping to the woods all the way. We lived like animals.”

“What will we sleep on?”

“Dry leaves,” Roebuck said. “We’ll make a bed of dry leaves.”

“Won’t they be full of bugs and things?”

“We’ll shake them out.”

Ellie accepted that but didn’t seem too happy with it. “At least we brought water and something to eat.”

“Maybe we’ll see a rabbit and I can get us some fresh meat,” Roebuck said, and he wondered if it was the voice of his hunting ancestors speaking through him.

They walked on. Sunlight above, darkness below. Even the undersides of the tree leaves, Roebuck noticed, were a drabber, paler green than the upper sides which faced the sun.

“I’ve gotta rest pretty soon,” Ellie said from behind him, so Roebuck stopped by the trunk of a large oak and laid the suitcase on the ground for her to sit on.

He’d noticed she was falling back, and he’d wondered when she would begin to complain.

Roebuck stayed on his feet, his hand resting lightly on the handle of the revolver that was stuck inside his belt against the warmth of his body. He wasn’t tired; he could walk another twenty miles without getting tired. His Western boots, dusty and scuffed now, were perfect for tramping through rough country, but he reminded himself that he would have to polish them when they got to Ironton.

“Do you think we’re past that roadblock yet?” Ellie asked wearily.

“We ought’a be,” Roebuck pulled the map from his hip pocket and slowly unfolded it. “We should be able to head straight east now, and in fifteen miles or so we’ll come to Highway R. We can walk parallel to the highway then, right into Ironton.” He traced his fingertip over the crinkled map, like a general going over his battle plan for the final time, then he folded the map and put it back in his pocket.

“I’m ready to go,” Ellie said, “if you want to keep walking.” She wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her blouse and Roebuck could see that she was still worn out.

“We can wait a while,” he said gallantly. “You catch your breath or you’ll want to rest again in five minutes.”

Ellie smiled at his thoughtfulness and leaned back against the tree trunk.

Roebuck lit a cigarette for each of them and they smoked leisurely, enjoying each deep inhalation.

“It’s peaceful here,” Ellie said. “I don’t see how they can ever find us among all these trees.”

“There are ways,” Roebuck said ominously. “Sometimes they use dogs.” He rather frightened himself with that sudden thought. But then they’d have to know where to pick up the trail even if they did happen to resort to that tactic.

“I’m ready to go now, really,” Ellie said. “If you are.”

“If you’re sure you’ve got your wind back.”

Ellie ground out her cigarette and stood, and Roebuck picked up the plaid suitcase again. He glanced over his shoulder at the sun, floating like a globe of dull fire above the treetops, and they began walking slowly due east.

The terrain was hillier now, and the going was slower than before. Roebuck began to worry. At this rate it would take them a long time to make Ironton. Around them birds flapped to the air and squirrels scurried away at their approach. Roebuck continued to lead the way, his high-topped boots smashing with noisy precision through the dead leaves.

Hours passed, and the shadows in the woods were deepening with the coming of dusk.

“I think I’ve gotta rest again,” Ellie said for the third time, and Roebuck was more than ready for her suggestion.

He squatted on the ground beside her and rested his back against the rough bark of a tree trunk. Sweat was rolling down his face and his entire body itched.

“It’ll be dark soon.” There was a touch of apprehension in Ellie’s voice.

Roebuck was too tired to answer. His legs ached and the soles of his feet felt as if they were burning.

They sat listening to each other’s breathing.

Roebuck was scratching his chest beneath his shirt when suddenly his hand stopped, and his breathing was suspended. The hand withdrew from inside his shirt and moved slowly to his belt.

The revolver was out in a slow, steady motion, and three shots rang through the dim woods. In their still aftermath the scurry of life rose up around Roebuck and Ellie and then was still again.

Roebuck was on his feet, walking toward a patch of high weeds. He picked up the bloody carcass of a small rabbit and turned to see that Ellie was standing and had moved back about ten feet from where they’d been sitting.

“Rabbit,” he said reassuringly. “We’ll have it for supper.” He saw proudly that the rabbit had been hit twice, one bullet passing all the way through its ruined head. By God, two out of three wasn’t bad for such a small target!

“What about all that noise, Lou?” Ellie glanced worriedly about her. “What if they’re looking for us in the woods?”

Roebuck hadn’t thought of that. The bastards might have sent out search parties, and they’d move toward the sound of the shots like columns of ants closing in on a doomed caterpillar.

“Come on,” he said, holding the rabbit by one hind leg. “If we move on for another hour they’ll never find us even if they are in this area. Hard to tell which direction shots come from in country like this.”

This time Ellie carried the suitcase as they began trudging east.

Roebuck flushed as he heard her scraping through the leaves behind him. “Damn mosquitoes!” he almost shouted, turning up the collar of his shirt.

When they thought they had walked far enough, they crossed a small clearing and stopped at the foot of a heavily wooded hill.

“This will be a good place to camp,” Roebuck proclaimed, turning in a circle to survey the surrounding countryside. “We can build a fire and it won’t be noticeable from the hillside, and we can shield it from the west.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to build a fire, Lou? I mean, if they might just happen to be following us.”

“Safe?” Roebuck snorted. “Of course it’s safe, or I wouldn’t have shot this rabbit for supper. Thick as these woods are, you can’t spot a small fire from over two, three hundred yards.”

“If you say so.” Ellie smiled at him from her weariness. “I could use a good hot meal.”

“While it’s still light,” Roebuck said, “I’ll build us a lean-to in case it rains. The knife from the tackle box is in the suitcase.”

They found a suitable spot to camp at the foot of the hill, and Ellie opened the suitcase and handed Roebuck the knife. In the failing light he set out to whittle off the small branches of some nearby trees.

Within a half hour he had a flimsy but serviceable affair made, framed with larger branches, roofed with small branches and twigs with a layer of leaves covering them. It would keep the rain off.

Roebuck cleared a spot for a fire, scraping the leaves beneath the small lean-to to form their bedding. Then he stacked some branches for the fire and found two forked sticks that would support a spit. All he had to do now was clean the rabbit, and they would be set for a pleasant evening in their camp.

Ellie watched as he laid the rabbit on a flat stone about fifty feet from where the fire was going to be and inserted the point of the knife beneath the furry flesh. He had expected her to feel sick when he peeled the hide off, but she gave no sign of emotion. The truth was that it was Roebuck who felt slightly ill. He hadn’t cleaned a rabbit since he was a boy.

Ellie brought the thermos of water from the suitcase and they poured a small trickle over the skinned rabbit where it had come in contact with the ground. Then they took the rabbit, along with the flat stone, back to their lean-to.

“We can have supper in no time,” Roebuck said, eyeing the darkening woods. He found two branches and stuck them in the ground near where he’d built the pyramid of sticks for a fire. Quickly he peeled off his shirt and draped it over the tops of the two branches to form a curtain that would help shield the fire from the view of anyone approaching from the way they had come.

By the time it was dark Roebuck had a small fire going. Using the flat stone he’d cleaned the rabbit on for a carving block, he dismembered the rabbit and skewered the choice pieces with the straight stick he was going to use for a spit

“I’ll open a can of something,” Ellie said, moving from where she was sitting beneath the lean-to.

Roebuck heard her fumbling in the suitcase as he placed the rabbit over the tiny fire and began slowly revolving the spit between his thumb and forefinger.

Ellie came and sat down cross-legged next to him. She had a can of beans and a can opener in her lap, and she handed Roebuck his spare shirt from the suitcase.

“Your nightgown,” she said.

Still sitting on the hard earth, he slipped the shirt on and began buttoning it while Ellie turned the rabbit. He thought she might become frightened when night settled into the woods, but she seemed instead to be adapting very quickly to the forest, like a domestic cat suddenly turned loose to make its own way.

“If you hear a plane,” he said, “tell me right away so I can throw dirt over the fire. They can spot it from the air.”

“Sure.” She let him resume turning the spit without a break in the slow rhythm.

After supper Roebuck built the fire up and he and Ellie sat back in the lean-to and smoked a final cigarette. The woods were silent. The thousand subtle noises they had taken for granted during the day had one by one ceased with the approaching gloom of night. Then night had rushed in, like a victorious army rushing into the vacuum of its enemy’s retreat, irresistible and gloating.

“We better go to sleep,” Ellie said when the fire had almost died. “I guess you want to start early in the morning.”

“Yeah, the earlier the better.” Roebuck leaned over and worked off his boots. He considered putting out the fire, but he saw that it had only a short while to live anyway.

They settled into their bed of leaves with a great rustling and sighing of tired relief. Roebuck lay on his side, curled spoon fashion against Ellie with his arm draped across her. He felt her kiss his hand as his relaxing body gave a little jerk, and with the swiftness of complete submission he sank into deep sleep.

The fire gave a last popping flicker, and the towering darkness that had been ebbing and flowing about their circle of firelight fell in on them.

Roebuck was still curled on his side when he awoke in the middle of the night. He blinked his eyes to make sure they were open, so impenetrable was the blackness around him. Though he could hear Ellie’s even breathing, he reached out a cautious hand and touched the small of her back to reassure himself that she was there.

What had awoken him? The pressure, he groggily realized, the intense, almost sensual pressure in his groin that told him he must relieve his swollen bladder.

With great reluctance he sat up and looked about him at the darkness, drawing the outlines of his surroundings in his mind. There was the fire curtain that was his shirt, there the suitcase and flat rock, there the unusually thick trunk of an oak tree where his knife was stuck, and there must be the ashes of the dead fire.

The throbbing pressure in his groin was almost unbearable, pulsating, as he slipped his boots on. He stood, brushing his head on the low roof of the lean-to, peering into the black night. A few steps and his outstretched hand felt the rough bark of a tree. A leaf brushed his cheek and he jumped, swatting at the empty air.

Far enough, he thought, taking a few more steps. His hand found the support of a tree, and he leaned and unzipped his pants to stand listening to the splatter of his urine on the dry leaves as the pressure within him was relieved.

He zipped his fly and stood straight with his hands on his hips, aware of the deep silence around him now that his urgent need was fulfilled. But the woods weren’t completely silent. He heard something move off to his left, a gentle movement among the leaves as if a breeze had stirred them. He wheeled about suddenly as he heard a dry snapping sound behind him, but he was facing only the darkness.

Roebuck moved hurriedly back toward the lean-to, feeling his way among the trees. Beneath the roof of leaves there wasn’t even a moon or a feeble star to lend its faint light.

He stopped.

Had he gone this far? He couldn’t have; he must have somehow passed the campsite.

He began retracing his steps as best he could. Then he stopped again and stood motionless. To his left. He had turned to his right when the branch had brushed his face, so the campsite must be to his left

Roebuck began moving in that direction, slowly, futilely straining his eyes against the night. Things
were
moving in the woods, all around him now, and he could hear his heartbeat. If there was anything near him, anything large, it would know. Animals could tell when a man was afraid. Something—a bear, a wild dog—something could be on him in the darkness before he knew it, crushing his bones with powerful jaws, churning his flesh with its claws.

“Ellie?” he called softly.

No, answer, only that soft rustling sound, behind him now, closer.

He took three quick steps and bumped his forehead on a tree.

“Ellie!”

He stumbled forward, one hand against his forehead, the other groping ahead of him. He was moving as fast as he dared in the darkness now, thrashing noisily through the leaves, ignoring the branches that brushed his face and plucked at his clothes.

Then he stood still.

He was making too much noise. If anything was out there it would find him by his noise, sense his panic.