His eyes were still blank, and he continued to be withdrawn, but not nearly as far-off and pathetic as he had been yesterday.
The fact that he had gone to the supplies, had rummaged through them, and had found the candy for himself was encouraging. And he had apparently added wood to the fire, for it was burning brightly, though after being untended during the night it should have cooled down to just a bank of hot coals.
She crawled to him and hugged him, and he hugged her, too, though weakly. He didn't speak, wouldn't be bribed or teased or encouraged into uttering a single word. And he still wouldn't meet her eyes directly, as if he were not entirely aware that she was here with him; however, she had the feeling that, when she looked away from him, his intense blue eyes turned toward her and lost their slightly glazed and dreamy quality. She wasn't positive. She couldn't catch him at it. But she dared to hope that he was returning to her, slowly feeling his way back from the edge of autism, and she knew she must not rush him or push him too hard.
Chewbacca had not perked up as much as his young master, though he was a bit less weak and stringy looking than he had been last night. The pooch seemed to grow healthier and more energetic even as Christine watched the boy pet him, responding to each pat and scratch and stroke as if Joey's small hands had healing power. There was sometimes a wonderful, mysterious, deep sharing, an instant bonding in the relationships between children and their animals.
Joey held his candy bar out in front of him, turned it back and forth, and seemed to be staring at it. He smiled vaguely.
Christine had never wanted anything more than she had wanted to see him smile, and a smile came to her own face in sympathy with his.
Behind her, Charlie woke with a start, and she went to him.
She saw at once that, unlike Joey and the dog, he had not improved. The delirium had left him, but in all other ways his condition had grown worse. His face was the color and texture of bread dough, greasy with sweat. His eyes appeared to have collapsed back into his skull, as if the supporting bones and tissues beneath them had crumpled under the weight of things he had seen. Forceful shivers shook him, and at times they grew into violent tremors only one step removed from convulsions.
He was partially dehydrated from the fever. His tongue clove to the roof of his mouth when he tried to speak.
She helped him sit up and take more Tylenol with a cup of water."
Better?"
"A little," he said, speaking only slightly louder than a whisper.
"How's the pain?"
"Everywhere," he said.
Thinking he was confused, she said, "I mean the pain in your shoulder."
"Yeah. That's what….. I mean. It's no longer….. just in my shoulder. It feels like….. it's everywhere now…..all through me.
head to foot….. everywhere. What time is it?"
She checked her watch." Good heavens! Seven-thirty. I must've slept hours without stirring an inch, and on this hard floor."
"How's Joey?"
"See for yourself."
He turned his head and looked just as Joey fed a last morsel of chocolate to Chewbacca.
Christine said, "He's mending, I think."
"Thank God."
With her fingers, she combed Charlie's damp hair back from his forehead.
When they'd made love at the cabin, she had thought him by far the most beautiful man she had ever known. She had been thrilled by the contour of each masculine muscle and bone. And even now, when he was shrunken and pale and weak, he seemed beautiful to her: His face was so sensitive, his eyes so caring.
She wanted to lie beside him, put her arms around him, hold him close, but she was afraid of hurting him.
"Can you eat something?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"You should," she said." You've got to build up your strength." He blinked his rheumy eyes as if trying to clear his vision.
"Maybe later. Is it. still snowing?"
"I haven't been outside yet this morning."
"If it's cleared up… you've got to leave at once… without me."
" Nonsense."
"This time of year… the weather might clear for only…
a day… or even just… a few hours. You've got to… take advantage of good weather… the moment it comes… get out of the mountains… before the next storm."
"Not without you."
"Can't walk," he said.
"You haven't tried."
"Can't. Hardly… can talk."
Even the effort at conversation weakened him. His breathing grew more labored word by word.
His condition frightened her, and the notion of leaving him alone seemed heartless.
"You couldn't tend the fire here, all by yourself," she protested.
"Sure. Move me… closer to it. Within arm's reach. And pile up…
enough wood… to last a couple of days. I'll be… okay."
"You won't be able to prepare and heat your food-"
"Leave me a couple… candy bars."
" That's not enough."
He scowled at her and, for a moment, managed to put more volume in his voice, forced a steely tone: "You've got to go without me. It's the only way, dammit. It's best for you and Joey… and it's best for me, too, because I'm… not going to get out of here… without the help of a medical evacuation team."
" All right," she said." Okay."
He sagged, exhausted by that short speech. When he spoke again, his voice was not only a whisper but a quavering whisper that sometimes faded out altogether on the ends of words." When you get down… to the lake… you can send help back… for me."
"Well, it's all moot until I find out whether the storm has let up or not," she said." I better go have a look."
As she began to get up, a man's voice called to them from the mouth of the cave, beyond the double battle of the entrance passage: "We know you're in there! You can't hide from us! We know! "
Spivey's hounds had found them.
Acting instinctively, not hesitating to consider the danger of her actions, Christine snatched up the loaded revolver and sprinted across the cave toward the Z-shaped passage that led outside.
"No!" Charlie said.
She ignored him, came to the first bend in the passage, turned right without checking to see if anyone was there, saw only the close rock walls and a vague spot of gray light at the next turn, beyond which lay the last straight stretch of tunnel and then the open hillside. She rushed forth with reckless abandon because that was probably the last thing Spivey's people would expect of her, but also because she couldn't possibly proceed in any other fashion; she was not entirely in control of herself. The crazy, vicious, stupid bastards had driven her out of her home, and put her on the run, had cornered her here in a hole in the ground, and now they were going to kill her baby.
The unseen man shouted again: "We know you're in there!"
She had never before in her life been hysterical, but she was hysterical now, and she knew it, couldn't help it. In fact, she didn't care that she was hysterical because it felt good, damned good, just to let go, to give in to blind rage and a savage desire to spill their blood, to make them feel some pain and fear.
With the same irrational disregard for danger that she had shown when turning the first blind corner in the passageway, she now turned the second, and ahead of her was the last stretch of the tunnel, then open air, and a figure silhouetted in the gray morning light, a man in a parka with a hood pulled up on his head. He was holding a rifle-no, a machine gun-but he was pointing it more or less at the ground, not directly ahead into the tunnel, because he wasn't expecting her to rush straight out at him and make such an easy target of herself, not in a million years, but that was just what she was doing, like a crazy kamikaze, and to hell with the consequences. She took him by surprise, and as he started to raise the muzzle of the machine gun to cover her, she fired once, twice, three times, hitting him every time, because he was so close that it was almost impossible to miss him.