Slowly, moaning as she strained with stiff muscles, she began to squirm forward. The journey seemed to take forever, but finally she was lying in the jumble of boots, plastic bags, backpacks, cook kits. She felt cloth against her cheek, nudged it aside, felt cool metal. The butane cylinder? She wondered if she might try to burn the ropes off, then quickly abandoned that idea; with her limited mobility, it would be far too risky. Maybe as a last resort. The packs, she knew, were empty. Merle had dumped out their contents the day he'd brought them in. So the knife had to be lying loose here, someplace.
She continued to search, using her face to push away invisible objects, exploring some with her tongue. She bit and dragged aside soft fabric, a button between her teeth. She lowered her face where it had been, and felt a metallic tube against her lips. She ran her tongue up the ribbed surface. The tube bulged at one end. A flashlight? She rolled it, and felt the switch against her cheek. A flashlight.
They'd used it only once, testing it when it came tumbling from the pack two days before. Its beam had been dusky yellow, the batteries weak, and she'd told Merle they should save it for an emergency. After that, she'd forgotten all about it.
Ettie pushed the switch with her chin. The dim beam spilled out, revealing a rumpled pair of jeans. Gripping the flashlight in her teeth, she struggled to her knees. She turned her head slowly, shining the beam over the packs, a sweatshirt, tennis shoes, a collapsible plastic water bucket, foil and cellophane packets of food, a Primus stove, a wallet, a first-aid kit. Her mouth, stretched wide to hold the flashlight, ached badly. She could breathe only through her nose. She felt as if she were suffocating. She gagged, and her eyes teared, but she kept her bite on the metal.
The red plastic handle of the knife was nowhere to be seen.
Inching forward, she crept into the heap. Her left knee nudged a hard object hidden under a flannel shirt. She pushed the shirt aside, and tucked her chin down to shine the light at her knees. The murky yellow beam fell on a hatchet.
Relief swept through Ettie. She forced her mouth open wide, and let the flashlight drop. It hit the granite floor with a dull thud. The cave went dark.
Ettie writhed and twisted until her fingers found the hatchet. Gripping the blunt end of its head, she pressed the cutting edge between her wrists and began to saw the rope.
Chapter Twenty-one
Nick shoved aside a sawed-off stump and a rock that had been used as seats at the campfire. Then he spread out his ground cloth. He opened the straps, keeping his rubber mat in a tight roll.
"Are we sleeping out?" Julie asked.
He looked over his shoulder. She was approaching from between two of the tents, a toothbrush and tube of toothpaste in her hand, her water bottle clamped under one arm. "Don't you want to?" he asked.
"What about the rain?"
He held out his open hands. "What rain?"
Julie smiled. Her sun-burnished face glowed copper in the firelight. "I'm game if you are," she said. Grinning, she turned away. Nick watched her stride toward the far tent and crouch over her pack. When she vanished inside the tent, he finished arranging his sleeping bag.
His parents were down by the shore with the twins, washing and brushing teeth. He went to his pack, took out his shorts and T-shirt, and crawled into their tent. His shorts felt cool when he put them on, as if they were still damp from swimming. He knew the sun had dried them, though, and his T-shirt had the same moist feel against his skin. Shivering, he hurried outside, stuffed his clothing into his pack, and rushed to his sleeping bag. His teeth chattered as he tugged off his untied boots and his socks. He put them at the head of his bag, and scurried into it. The slippery fabric was cold at first. Slowly, it filled with warmth. By the time Julie came out of her tent, he'd stopped shaking.
"You look cozy," she said.
"I am. Sort of."
She spread her poncho on the ground beside him, rolled out her foam rubber mat, and tugged open the drawstrings of her stuff bag. The sleeping bag bloomed as if inflating when she pulled it free. On her knees, facing Nick, she bent over to spread it out. He watched the way her hair, hanging from under the edges of her hood, brushed against her cheeks like wisps of gold in the firelight.
"You sleeping out?" Scott called. He appeared from behind one of the tents, Karen and Benny at his sides.
"Sure," Julie said. "It's not gonna rain."
"I hope you're right."
When they were gone, Julie unzipped her sleeping bag, crawled in, and pulled the zipper up to her shoulder. She rolled onto her side. She pillowed her head on her bent arm, and smiled at Nick.
"We'll wait till they're all in their tents," he whispered. "Then we'll run around yelling, 'My arm! Where's my arm?' "
She laughed softly. "Forget it. I'm not moving a muscle till the sun comes up."
"Unless it rains?" Nick asked.
"If it rains, I think I'll murder you."
"Hope you two've got your Mae Wests on," Dad said, coming back from the shore.
"You're gonna drown," Rose informed them.
"You people have no confidence," Nick said.
"I'll move in with the girls," Mom said. "If the rain starts, young man, you hightail it into your father's tent."
"Fine," he said.
At last, everyone vanished into tents. Nick lay on his side, staring at Julie's face a yard away. She was looking at him, too. He wished there was more light.
"You ought to wear a hat when you sleep," Julie said.
"I burrow down."
"You're not burrowed now." "If I burrow, I can't look at you." He could hardly believe he'd said that. But he was glad. As the silence stretched out, he felt his heart beating fast. His stomach was fluttery.
Julie moved her sleeping bag closer. "How's that?" she whispered.
His throat felt tight. He nodded. "Great," he managed. Julie's face was dim in the faint, shimmering glow of firelight, her eyes glistening. He felt the warmth of her breath through the cold air. "Do you know what?" he whispered. His thundering heart felt as if it might explode.
"What?" she asked.
"I. " He. backed down. He couldn't say it.
"What?"
"I've never known a girl like you."
"How do you mean?"
"I don't know. I'm not very… I like you an awful lot, Julie."
"I like you an awful lot, too."
"You do?" He felt a trembling warmth spread through him.
"Yeah, I do. I. hell…"
"What?" he asked.
Her lower lip curled in. She clamped it between her teeth. Then she let the lip go, and sighed. "I think," she whispered, "that maybe I love you."
The words stunned Nick. He went breathless and dizzy. He felt like shouting with joy, like weeping. He said, "Jesus."
"The name's Julie."
"God, Julie. You really…"
"Really."
"Oh, Julie," he whispered. "Julie, I love you." He pressed his mouth gently to her parted lips.
Scott stared at the slanting dark walls of the tent above him, and listened to the sounds of Benny's breathing. He didn't think the boy was asleep yet. As he waited, he stroked the sweatshirt spread over his chest and belly. He imagined Karen wearing only her sweatpants.
"Dad?" Benny asked.
"Huh?"
"Do you think it was true?" The boy sounded nervous. "About the guy and his arm?"
"No, of course not."
"He said it was true."
"It's not. Dead people do not get up and wander around."
"Have you ever heard of zombies?"
"I think so," Scott said, smiling in the darkness.
"They're dead people who get brought back to life with voodoo. They're supposed to really exist. You know, like in Haiti? I've read about 'em."