"Well, that was just . . . I know we aren't on a continent Or something. But we don't know what island this is, or how big it is. It might very well be inhabited. We might even find some sort of town."
"And police," Connie said. She was perking up. In spite of her injuries, she would apparently be delighted to walk for miles in search of the dinghy or a precinct house.
Billie nodded. "It couldn't hurt to just keep going on the beach and see what . . ."
"Be my guest," Kimberly said. "I'm not interested. The rest of you wanta bail out on me, that's your problem. I don't care if there's a metropolis around the corner, I'm going into the jungle after Wesley and I'm not coming out till I've got his head."
I couldn't help it. I gave her a buggy-eyed stare and said, "His head? You mean, like, figuratively speaking?"
She just looked at me.
Which was all the answer I needed.
I muttered, "Jesus."
Billie had that look on her face -- a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "You're not really planning to cut off Wesley's head?"
"He killed my husband and my father. You know how we towed Dad's body out? I'd like to swim out to exactly the same place with Wesley's head, and let it sink there in the same place so Dad'll see that I took care of business."
I didn't like the sound of that.
I wanted Wesley dead, too, but it disturbed me to find out that Kimberly had come up with such a bizarre, grisly plan. She'd obviously given it a lot of thought.
It seems she had depths of creepiness I had never even guessed at.
Connie, too, seemed impressed. With a look on her face as if she'd just encountered a little green man, she did a brief rendition of The Twilight Zone's music -- "Doo-de-do-do, doo-de-do-do." I'd heard her do that before, but never an impression of Rod Serling (or anyone else, for that matter). "One Kimberly Dickens, cheerleader, prom queen, loving daughter and faithful wife. She came to a tropical island in search of a picnic, and found instead that she had slipped into a netherworld of primitive . . ."
"Knock it off," Kimberly said.
"Hey, you're talking about decapitating someone."
"You have a problem with that?"
"Not with that, with you. I mean, you're creeping me out. You start talking about taking a guy's head off -- even his -- and it starts making me wonder if you've lost a few screws."
Kimberly frowned at her, then shrugged. "You're probably right, I shouldn't go around saying stuff like that." She glanced at each of us. "I guess maybe I got carried away. I'm not missing any screws. A couple of them might be slightly loose, but . . . don't worry, I haven't gone crazy."
"I've had some pretty horrible thoughts, myself," Billie said. "Things I'd like to do to Wesley. Some of them are a lot worse than chopping his head off."
"Me, too," I said.
"Well, so have I," Connie admitted. Meeting Kimberly's gaze, she said, "The difference is, you mean to do it."
"I don't know," Kimberly said. "I guess we'll see, won't we?" With that, she turned away and continued walking.
Billie, Connie and I gave each other looks.
Kimberly had spooked all three of us.
None of us talked much, after that. Connie didn't even raise any more complaints.
Our silence must've bothered Kimberly. After a while, she frowned over her shoulder at us. "What's the matter with you people?"
Billie just shook her head.
"Nothing," I said.
"Nope," said Connie, "nothing wrong here."
Kimberly turned around and walked backward. "You people! For Godsake, I was kidding. Okay? Christ! You'd think I was foaming at the mouth! I'm not gonna cut off anybody's head, okay? I didn't mean it. I never should've said it. Now you all think I've flipped out. Anyway, as a matter of fact, so what if I wanta cut off his head? You think he hasn't got it coming? He chopped Dad's head in half. In my book, anything he gets is better than what he deserves. If we're lucky enough to catch him alive, what we oughta do is skin him. We oughta spend a few days killing him a little bit at a time, make him scream till he's hoarse, make him beg for death. If you think cutting his head off is extreme, just wait and see what I do to himbefore I take his head. He's gonna pay big-time for murdering Dad and Keith. If you think I'm mad now, just wait and see. You've got no idea what I'm capable of."
The three of us gaped at her.
She suddenly swung out an arm as if trying to bat away a trio of pesky flies. "Get out of here. Leave me alone. I'll take care of Wesley and Thelma. I don't need the three of you hanging around . . . You're all useless, anyway. None of you has got the stomach for what's coming, so get outa my face. Go! Get outa here!" She swung her arm again, then spun around and took off running.
"Don't!" Billie yelled. "Hey! Wait up!"
"Ah, let her go," Connie said.
"Kimberly!" I shouted.
She kept running.
Billie took off after her.
"Mom!"
Billie didn't stand a chance of catching up with Kimberly, so I joined the chase. Even lugging the ax with me, I was able to gain on Billie. But Kimberly, faster than both of us, kept drawing away. And I could tell that she wasn't even running full tilt.
Connie shouted at our backs, "Damn it! Come back! Are you all out of your fucking minds?"
Billie, still slightly ahead of me, glanced over her shoulder.
So did I.
Connie just stood where she'd been. We were leaving her quite a distance behind us.
Billie stopped running.
I dodged to keep from crashing into her.
"Leave the ax," she gasped at me. "Get her. This is . . . gotta stop her."
I let the ax fall to the sand. Then I put on all the speed I could muster. As I dashed after Kimberly, I yelled, "Quit it! Come on! We're with you! Slow down! You're not crazy! Please! Stop running! Please! We wanta go with you!"
A lot of good my shouting did.
It was a waste of breath, so I quit yelling.
Soon, I found myself gaining on her.
She must've been allowing me to gain on her.
Not to catch her, though.
She let me approach to within about three strides behind her, but no closer.
I watched the way her black hair streamed behind her. I watched how the seat of her bikini pants, visible under her flapping shirt tail, moved with the flexing mounds of her buttocks. And how her slender legs strode.
As she ran, she held the spear low by her left hip, its shaft parallel to the sand, while her right hand held the tomahawk against her side to stop it from flinging about and pounding her right hip.
Though she didn't pump at all with her arms, she raced along swiftly enough to stay ahead of me.
After a while, she said, "Give it up, Rupert. Go on back to them."
"I'm coming with you."
"Forget it."
"Just stop and wait," I gasped. "You're the one . . . always against us . . . splitting up. We . . . gotta stay . . . together."
"You'll get in my way," she said.
"No. Please."
"I'm gonna do Wesley my way. Don't wanta hear you guys whining about it."
"We . . . won't whine."
"Forget it. You had your chance. Adios, amigo."
She started to pour it on. I made a dive for her.
My fingertips brushed the flying tail ofher shirt. Moments later, both my hands buried themselves in the sand. They shoved ditches into the beach as I flopped on my chest and skidded.
The landing knocked my wind out.
I lifted my head and watched Kimberly sprint up the beach. Spear raised high, she pumped it up and down as she dashed along like a Zulu on the attack.
Missing People
On my hands and knees, I watched Kimberly until she vanished around the point. Then I stood up, brushed the sand off my body, and started trudging back to Billie and Connie. Billie was a couple of hundred yards away from me, Connie another hundred yards or so behind her mother.
The way we were separated, any one of us could've gotten picked off. Keeping an eye on the edge of the jungle, I quickened my pace.