"Arnold," Alice said in a warning voice.
"You said I could tell it."
"I imagined you'd use some discretion."
"Want me to stop?"
"Keep going," Nick said. "It's neat."
Alice sighed. "Just tone it down, all right? There are children present."
"Tone it down, okay. Now, where was I?" He sucked in some smoke, let it drift out of his nostrils. The wind whipped it away. "Oh, yeah. So the Chopper was on the loose, and they'd found some of his handiwork in the woods, but there were a few other folks who'd just disappeared, so they figured the body count would get even higher. We were a little jumpy, camping out in the neighborhood. Dad was packing a.22 revolver, though, so we figured we'd waste the sucker if he showed himself.
"I tell you, though, we didn't get much sleep that first night. We were the only campers on the lake. It was mighty dark and silent. Every now and then, we'd hear a rustle in the bushes. Me and Cliff were sure it was the Chopper sneaking in close. I tell you, that was one of the longest nights I ever spent. Before the war anyway," he added, and felt his chest tighten as he saw himself cowering in the jungle.
"Did he get you?" Scott asked.
"Huh? No. No, we made it through the night okay."
Flash took a deep breath. "We spent the next day on the lake. Rowing around and fishing. It was sunny and hot. Real nice. Dragonflies, loons cackling. Real pleasant. And we had a lot of luck, fishing. Brought in a whole string of bluegill and sunfish, a couple of bullheads. We fried them up for dinner, and had a real feast. Then we went out in the rowboat again for some night fishing.
"I guess we were all glad to be on the lake after dark. Out there, we didn't have to worry about the Chopper. My God, it was nice out there. Warm, just a little breeze. The moonlight looked like silver on the water. There were lightning bugs. We were all greased up and stinky with 6-12, to keep the mosquitoes off." He sighed. "Anyway, we were drifting near the north end of the lake, maybe fifty yards from shore, when I felt a sudden tug on my line. Man, I was excited! I started reeling in, thinking I'd hooked a real whopper. Felt heavy, you know? My rod was bent almost double. But I started to wonder, because I wasn't getting any play. You know how you can usually feel the fish flipping around down there? Well, this one didn't seem to be moving at all. Just a dead weight.
"Cliff shined his flashlight on the lake where my line was in. The beam only went in a little way. I remember how dirty the water looked. Like it was full of dust, or something. Then, as I cranked the reel, this pale hand came up like there was somebody reaching for the light. I tell you, I damn near croaked. But I kept reeling in, and Cliff held the flashlight steady, and a second later I had a severed arm swinging from the end of my rod. It was cut off at the elbow. My hook was in its wrist. We all just stared at the thing. It hung there, dripping and swaying."
"My God," Julie muttered.
Alice said, "I thought you promised to tone it down."
"I'm just telling what happened," Flash said.
"This didn't happen," she said.
"Didn't it? Ask Cliff next time he's over."
"How come you never mentioned it?"
"You know how you are about these things."
"Why'd you have to bring it up, then?"
"The kids wanted a story."
"Mother of God."
"May I continue?"
"You mean there's more?"
"I haven't got to the good part yet."
"Oh, for crying out loud."
"Go on," Nick said. He was leaning forward, elbows on knees. "What'd you do with the thing?"
"I wanted to cut my line and get rid of it, but Dad said we had to keep it for the authorities. He told me to swing it over to him. He was sitting in the stern. I swung it over, and he grabbed the line and lowered the arm into the boat and cut the line. Then Cliff rowed us back to camp.
"By the time we got there, most of the shock had worn off. We were all pretty excited, acting as if we'd landed a record-breaking muskie or something. We figured, you know, that it must be the arm of a Chopper victim. Dad put it in a grocery bag. He wanted to take it to the police right away. The nearest town was about an hour drive, though, and we had lots of good camping gear we didn't want to leave behind while we went in. Cliff volunteered to stay and guard the stuff, but Dad wouldn't let him. We finally decided to break camp and take everything with us. We figured, you know, we wouldn't be too eager to stick around another day anyhow.
"We didn't bother making a campfire. I lit the Coleman lantern, and we kept it by the tent while we gathered up our things. We worked real fast, but it seemed to take forever. The car was parked about a hundred yards away. Dad left me and Cliff a couple of times while he carried stuff over. We didn't much like it when he was gone. We kept looking over our shoulders at the bag with the arm.
"Anyway, he was carrying the cooler and tackle box to the car and Cliff and I were busy folding the tent, our backs to the lake, when we heard this splashing sound behind us. Like somebody wading slowly out of the water. We leaped to our feet and spun around. And Jesus, there was a man coming at us!"
Heather covered her eyes.
"He was kind of stumbling along like he was drunk. He was just a dim shape in the darkness at first. When he got closer to the lantern, though, we could see him real well — too well. He was a skinny guy, about forty. He was wearing jeans and a plaid shirt. His sneakers squished with each step. He was dripping from head to foot. The top of his head was split open like a broken watermelon, and his left arm was gone.
"Right beside the lantern, he stopped and stared at us with these blank eyes. Then his mouth opened. He tried to say something, and about a gallon of water gushed out of his mouth like he was throwing up. When the water stopped pouring out, he said in this kind of choked, gurgling voice, 'My arm. I want my arm.'
"Cliff and I ran like hell, too scared even to scream. When we got back to the camp with Dad, the guy was gone." Rash sighed. He tapped a length of ash off his cigar. "We followed his footprints to the edge of the lake. For a long time, we stared out over the water. We couldn't see the guy, but we knew he was out there. Somewhere down below. In the dark, murky water. With his arm."
Chapter Twenty
The struggle had left Ettie's wrists and ankles raw, but the ropes binding her were as tight as they'd been when she started. Her blood made them slippery, but still she couldn't pull free.
Her only chance was to cut herself loose. Either that, or wait for Merle to release her. But he might not come back. If the signs had been right. Maybe it was already too late to save him. Or herself. Maybe this is how it would end, with Merle meeting his fate at the hands of the campers and Ettie starving to death, helpless in the cave. "No," she said into the darkness. She would get loose. She had to! She knew, from rolling onto her side, that her sheath knife was gone. Merle must've taken it. But what about the Swiss Army knife they'd found among the gear of the dead campers? If he'd forgotten about it, the knife would be somewhere in the heap of equipment at the far end of the cave.