I pressed a hand to my face.
She slapped the back of my hand, then pranced backward.
"They're on the move," she said.
"Huh?"
"Your girlfriends. Remember? The plan?"
I started to turn my head.
Connie stopped me. Stopped me dead by crossing her arms and grabbing the front of her bikini top with both hands and tugging it up. Her breasts seemed to spring out from under it. And there they were, right in front of me. Loose all of a sudden, they jiggled. They lifted and nearly went away, turning into small slopes, as she raised her arms and shucked the bikini top off over her head. When she put her arms down, her breasts came back out.
They looked so naked. They weren't tanned at all, but had a pinkish hue from the firelight. The nipples looked big and dark.
"Think he's distracted now?" she asked.
I didn't even try to answer.
Letting out a huff of laughter, she tossed her orange top aside with one hand and slapped my face with the other. Before I could do anything about the slap, she leaped out of range.
We went back to circling each other.
She was wonderful to watch -- the way she was bent over with her arms out, naked except for the waistband and meager orange front panel of her bikini pants, her skin ruddy and shimmering in the firelight, her hair golden -- and how her prancing, lurching movements made her breasts bounce and bob.
For me, it was like something in a wild dream.
For Wesley, it must've been pretty exciting, too.
The absolute perfect diversion, just so long as the guy you're trying to distract isn't dead, blind or gay.
If our campfire was in view of Wesley's hiding place, his eyes were glued to Connie. Not a shadow of a doubt about that.
Connie darted in and slapped me again.
I didn't mind.
It was a good, sharp smack, but the view was stunning.
"Do it now," Connie said, circling again.
"What?"
"Knock me out."
I shook my head. "Too soon."
"Isn't. They're there."
"Are you sure?"
"Damn it, Rupert! Quit stalling."
"I can't hit you."
"It's pretend, remember? My Christ, this was your plan in the first place. Let's do it! I'll come in at you."
"I don't . . ."
"Now!"
"Okay, okay."
She charged straight toward me, arms out as if she wanted to give me a bear hug.
I threw a roundhouse in the general direction of her chin.
She ran right into it.
Honest. I never intended my fist to connect with her. It was an accident. Really and truly.
But what a punch! The blow snapped her head sideways. Her cheeks flopped, her lips almost jumped off her face, and a glittering banner of spit flew toward the fire. Her legs kept coming, but the rest of her body stopped fast and started on its way down. Her back struck the sand, whup! Her breasts flattened as if mashed against her chest by invisible hands. An instant later, they were springing up. Then her legs landed.
She lay sprawled on the beach, motionless.
Scared, I hurried over to her and dropped to my knees. Her eyes were shut. Her mouth drooped open. My punch had taken her out, no question about that. She was breathing, though. I could see the rise and fall of her chest, so I hadn't killed her.
I looked around.
Thelma appeared to be asleep. Kimberly and Billie were nowhere to be seen, but they might be watching me. Wesley was probably watching, too. So I didn't allow myself to spend much time enjoying the view of Connie. Also, I kept my hands to myself.
On my feet, I went over to my place by the fire and picked up my "tomahawk." The weapon, made by Kimberly, consisted of a sturdy, Y-shaped limb with a rock at the forked end. The rock was wedged in and strapped secure with strips of denim cut from some jeans that had been salvaged after the explosion.
I looked back at Connie. She was still sprawled on her back. I grimaced. I'd really nailed her. Which made me feel guilty, but secretly pleased. Also, I felt sort of pleased about my self-control; I'd wanted to feel her up so badly it hurt, but hadn't done it. What restraint! I deserved a medal.
Actually, restraint didn't have much to do with it. I was just afraid her mom might see me. I sure wouldn't want Billie to know what a horny degenerate I really am.
Anyway, I gave Connie one last, long look. Then I turned away and headed for the darkness beyond the firelight.
The Ambush
Thelma lay on her bed of rags where she belonged. Curled on her side, she slept with an arm under her head for a pillow.
Kimberly and Billie had left human-shaped mounds of sand covered with scraps of cloth at the places where they usually slept. A pretty lame trick, really. The sort of thing a kid might do before he sneaks out his window at night.
In fact, our entire ambush plan seemed to be made of lame, childish tricks.
Tricks that didn't stand much chance of fooling a reasonably intelligent adult.
(In spite of the opinions of Andrew and some others in our group, Wesley isn't stupid.)
As I walked away from the firelight, I got a terrible feeling that we hadn't even come close to outsmarting him. He hadn't been distracted by Connie. He'd watched Billie and Kimberly sneak to the fake latrine. Maybe he'd already silently killed them both.
About halfway between the fire and the latrine, I stopped walking. The area ahead looked so damn dark. I needed time for my eyes to adjust.
That's what I told myself, anyway.
Actually, I stopped because I was suddenly scared to keep going. I wanted to be back at the fire, safe in its light, with Connie. (Even out cold, she'd be better company than nobody.)
I couldn't turn back, though. I'd look like a chicken.
So I forced myself to start moving again. It seemed to take forever, but finally I reached the latrine.
From the side, I saw the dim shape of someone low down in the darkness between its walls. There seemed to be only one person. I couldn't tell who it was. Or whether it was a woman.
I stood there, staring.
The person hiding in the latrine didn't make a sound.
I told myself: This has to be Billie or Kimberly.
Unless it's Wesley.
The way the body kept so still, I thought it might be one of the gals, but dead.
I started to feel like running away.
Which, of course, would've blown everything.
Finally, I choked out, "Who is it?"
"Rupert?" A hoarse whisper. But it seemed to be Billie's voice.
"Yeah."
"Thought it must be, but . . ."
"Where's Kimberly?" I whispered.
"Get in here," Billie said, rising up slightly higher in the darkness.
We hadn't exactly rehearsed this part. I stepped in between the bushy walls. They were about as high as my waist. Billie seemed to be standing below me in the hole, her face level with my knees.
"What am I supposed to do?" I asked.
"Pretend you're taking a whizz."
Great, I thought.
But I saw the point. After all, the whole charade was for Wesley's benefit. If I was going to visit the latrine, I should appear to be using it.
So I clamped the tomahawk under my arm, then started going through the motions -- as if I'd just stepped up to a urinal.
Of course, I didn't haul anything out.
"What happened to Kimberly?" I whispered.
"She went off. Thought we ought to split up."
I looked around, but couldn't spot Kimberly. The beach between me and the jungle looked gray and desolate. Beyond the line of trees, the jungle was black. Turning my head the other way, I checked on our campsite. The sleeping area looked like a field of dark lumps. Connie was still sprawled on her back near the fire.
"Do you know where she went?" I asked.
"The jungle."
"She out of her mind?"
"She wants you to go there. If Wesley doesn't attack you here."
"Oh."
"If the attack happens here, she's gonna come in and take him from behind."
"I don't think it'll happen here," I said.
"Let's give it some time."