Stranded

Chapter Eleven

Abby tried to relax again and enjoy her conversation with Boyd, but she found that her gaze kept wandering over to Whit who stood at the edge of the creek, spear poised to strike at a fish.

Could she be right about Boyd? Was this overly friendly and jovial man their stalker and thief?

Or worse, a killer? Gooseflesh erupted along her arms, and she rubbed them and scooted closer to the fire, hoping the heat would help.

But the closer she moved, the more fierce Boyd’s smell became.

While she didn’t want to be rude, or think ill of him because he was so dirty, she couldn’t help but be disturbed by his scent.

He needed to bathe in the worst way and she tried not to think about how long it had been since he’d done so.

She fought plugging her nose, and smiled at him instead, as he continued to tell her yet another story about his firefighting and paramedic days.

Boyd really was a hero. He’d done so much to help people, save their lives really.

He couldn’t be a murderer, could he? She thought again about what Whit said about his stories possibly not being true.

But why make up such tales? To impress her? Why? How could that benefit him?

She poked at the fire and then finished off the last of the fish, saving the mushrooms for later, but not before first offering them to Boyd, who politely declined.

“I’m stuffed,” he said. “Thanks to you two kind ladies.” He smiled, showing off the prominent red and gummy gaps where teeth should be.

Abby set the pot away from the fire and brought her knees up to her chest. She was growing restless and wanted to go help Whit with the fish, even if it did slightly disturb her to watch her kill and clean them.

Anything was better than sitting there, wondering if the man across from her was a killer.

But she didn’t think it wise to leave him alone in the camp. She wasn’t sure why, he couldn’t really do anything, other than mess with the fish, but they’d see him do that if he tried. He seemed to sense her restlessness.

“You don’t have to stay here with me,” he said, tossing a couple of dead leaves into the fire. “I need to go see if I can hunt me down some supper anyway.” He stood and wiped the seat of his pants, as if that would help his uncleanliness.

Abby joined him, wiping off her own backside. “You could always eat whatever we do,” she said, feeling somewhat bad that he should have to catch his own when they obviously had plenty.

“Nah, it’s best if I get my own.”

He skirted the fire and scooped up his pack, giving Abby a salute. “I’ll catch you later.” He then disappeared back into the trees, moving as quietly as a fall breeze. Abby stared after him for a short while, making sure he didn’t return, and then joined Whit at the shoreline of the creek.

“What’s up?” Whit asked softly, still poised for fish with the spear.

“Boyd went off to find his own dinner.”

Whit appeared amused. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, well.”

“I told you, I don’t think he’s so bad.”

“Mm.” Whit pressed her finger to her mouth as a large fish swam into view. She struck, but missed. “Damn. Thats the eighth one I’ve missed.”

“Think they’re wising up?”

“No, I think I’m just distracted.”

“By?”

She looked at Abby. “What do you think? You and the Boy Scout.”

“Me?”

“Yes, of course, Abby. I’m worried, okay? I don’t trust him and I’ve been trying to keep an eye on you while I fish.”

Whit cared about her. It was nice to hear, even if it didn’t mean all that Abby wished it meant. Whit was just looking out for her, nothing more. Still, it made her heart race nonetheless. “I appreciate that,” she said. “It means a lot.”

Whit looked back to the water. “Yeah, well, I don’t like the idea of you two becoming so chummy. He’s bad news.”

“So you say.”

Whit didn’t say anything more and Abby drew away to give her some space.

She walked back toward the edge of the shoreline, where the water level sometimes reached land.

She spotted a beautiful stone, or at least she thought it was a stone, until she picked it up and ran it over her fingertips.

It was clear and prism like, with several offshoots that looked like spikes.

She held it up to the sunlight and smiled.

It was dazzling and she wanted to see if she could find more.

She began walking along the shoreline, slowly taking in her surroundings beyond the river rocks.

She headed up the creek, away from Whit, and soon was nearly out of ear shot.

A glimmer of crystal caught her eye just as she turned to head back.

Excited, she lifted another similar piece to the one she’d previously found and tucked it, too, in her jacket pocket. She’d have to ask Whit what they were.

She thought she saw another one, buried in the moist sand, so she knelt and dug it out.

It was similar to the others, but much smaller, so she decided to leave it.

She did however, find something else as she dug.

It looked like…yes, it was. She pulled it from the sand and held it up for inspection.

It was a clam. She quickly looked around for more, searching for air bubbles in the ground.

She found more, a lot more bubbles, and after she dug another clam out to be sure that what she saw were indeed clam dens, she headed off quickly back toward Whit.

She found her cleaning another whitefish.

“Hey,” Abby said.

“You sound out of breath. Everything okay?” She sliced the fish along the underbelly and Abby turned away.

“I found some clams. Lots of them.”

She tossed the two she had onto the ground next to Whit. “Can we eat them?”

“Nope.”

Abby turned back around. “No?”

“Could be toxic.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“Damn. I thought I’d really found something that could help us out.”

“It was a good idea, don’t get me wrong, but yeah, we shouldn’t eat them.”

Abby reached in her jacket pocket. “Look what else I found.” She brought out the crystal-like formations and held them out for inspection.

Whit glanced back up. “Ah, you found some quartz. Very nice.”

“They’re pretty, aren’t they?” Abby tucked them back into her pocket.

“You gonna keep them?” She went back to deboning the fish, tossing the bony spine aside, back into the water.

“Uh-huh.”

“They’ll make a good souvenir.”

“I thought so. If, by the end of this journey, I actually want to remember anything.”

Whit chuckled. “You will.”

“Swear?”

“Swear.”

Whit had caught more fish while Abby was out exploring. She had three more whitefish in the tidal pool she’d built. And she was cleaning the fourth.

“Looks like your luck returned.”

“Seems so.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to go look around some more.”

“Stay close. Remember this isn’t a playground.”

“Got it.” She looked out across the creek, intent on catching the late afternoon sun’s rays as it played upon the dark coppery water and spotted a bird, a very large bird, on the top branch of a tree. “Whit, look. A bald eagle. And it’s so close,” Abby said, amazed.

“He’s watching me,” Whit said, coming to a stand. “Waiting for me to leave so he can feed on the remnants.”

“Really?”

“Want to see him feed?” Whit picked up a string of guts and gore. Abby had no idea what it was, or what it did for the fish, but it almost made her gag. Whit threw it down the shoreline. “Stand very still. Let’s see if he goes for it.”

They stood next to each other, watching. The eagle took off at once, and glided down to the ground to snatch up the pieces of food. Then he flew away, massive wings pumping.

“That was incredible,” Abby said. “I’ve never seen a bird so big in my life. Think he’ll come back?”

“Probably.”

“I hope so.”

Whit grabbed her spear and stabbed one of the fish in her tidal pool to bring out and clean.

Abby, having seen enough guts and gore for the moment, headed off again, in search of more treasure.

She walked the length of the creek, collecting more quartz bits and some pretty, colorful river rock.

She wasn’t sure if she was going to keep it all, but it was fun to collect.

Her knee was still sore, especially when she stepped awkwardly on the rocks every once in a while, but for the most part, it wasn’t too bad.

How it would feel when they walked for longer periods of time, she couldn’t say.

She continued her search up and down both sides of the creek for quite some time as Whit cleaned all the fish and even returned to camp to place them in the smoker.

To her continued amazement, the bald eagle returned, as if it had known Whit was going away again, and took more of the fish guts.

She wondered if it was perhaps feeding some little ones in a nest nearby.

As Whit went back to fishing, and the sun began its descent in the sky, Abby gave up her quest and ventured back to camp. She tended to the low burning fire and settled in to get warmed up. It wasn’t long before Whit soon joined her, carrying five more fish.

“Holy shit. You caught a lot today.”

“Not as much as I’d hoped.”

Abby laughed. “Whit, you caught plenty. We can nibble on them a little at a time.”

“I sure hope it lasts.”

She slid the fish off the spear and peeled back the branches along the top of the smoker to place them inside.

Once she did, she replaced the branches and then plucked away the rocks at the opening to add more wood to the fire.

When she had it smoking well again, she replaced the stones and came to sit next to Abby on the stump.

“Giving up on sitting on the log?” Abby asked as she watched Whit slide the last whitefish off the spear to put on the slab over the fire.

“It’s tainted.”

Abby let out a hearty laugh. “You’re crazy, Whit.”

“At least I made you laugh.”

“Why wouldn’t you? You can be funny.”

Whit played with the fillet with the edge of her knife. “Not as funny as Boyd.”

“Did I hear my name?” A booming voice came from the brush behind them and Boyd appeared, carrying something white in his arms. Abby and Whit stood, studying him closely. “I always come when called,” he said as he approached.

“What’s that?” Abby asked, perplexed by the white bundle. But as he grew closer, she saw that it was an animal and her heart sank. He’d found his dinner.

“Matilda,” Boyd said with a smile.

“What?” Whit asked, grimacing. “Looks like a snowshoe hare to me.”

It was. It was a rabbit. Abby’s stomach flipped.

“She’s a snowshoe alright,” he walked up to Abby and bounced a little, cradling the hare. “She’s already turned white for the winter.”

Abby blinked. “Is she alive?”

“Well, sure she’s alive. Here.” He handed her the rabbit. It was small and obviously terrified, its ears flattened, eyes wide. She cooed at it and tried to rub its enormous feet.

“Careful,” Boyd said. “She’s skittish.”

“Will she bite?” Abby asked.

“Hasn’t yet. But even so.”

Whit spoke. “Why do you have a wild hare? And furthermore, why did you bring it to camp?”

Abby’s heart sank again as she considered that he might be planning on killing it to eat.

“I found her. Just like that, huddled near a tree, out in the open. She wouldn’t run, so I took her. Didn’t want no wild animal to get her. She’s helpless.”

Abby perked up and she studied the ball of fur in her arms. “She’s so calm.”

“My guess is, she had the tar scared out of her by something.”

“Either that or she’s injured,” Whit said.

“Could be.”

“You should have left her.”

“Would you’ve?” he asked. “Left that poor little thing alone and helpless? At least if she could run she’d stand a chance.”

“I wouldn’t have brought her back here,” Whit said.

Abby kissed the top of her head and rubbed her soft fur. “I’m glad you brought her,” she said. “You saved her.”

“Abby, you can’t keep her.” Whit looked pissed.

Abby didn’t cave. She couldn’t give up the hare. Like Boyd said, she was helpless. “I’m not letting her out of my sight.”

Whit sighed and sank down on the stump. Boyd grinned. “I knew you’d like her.” He eased out of his pack and sat down on the log. “Mind if I borrow your pot?”

Abby settled on the ground with the rabbit, emptied out the mushrooms, and handed the pot over. “Not at all, Boyd.” She smiled at him and at the hare. She was right about Boyd. He was okay. He’d saved this little hare instead of killing it for food.

“Matilda,” she said as she smiled over at Whit.

Whit shook her head at her as if warning her, but Abby ignored her.

I’m right about Boyd. I just know I am.