Season of Death (23 page)

“Still got Fred da Deadhead?” Lewis asked, with a grin. The shoulder was slowing down his body, but not his mouth.

“Yeah …” Ray zipped the pockets shut and stood to face them. “Okay, here’s the plan. We grab some breakfast and head for the boat.” He glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t be any problem to make the village before noon.”

“I’m not shore how I’m gonna do, Ray,” Billy Bob groaned.

“You’ll do fine. We’ll take it slow and easy. You’ll be back home, under a doctor’s care in no time.” Ray had him sit on the cot while he examined the wounds. He doused them with antiseptic and redressed them. After doling out painkillers, he assisted the cowboy to his feet.

Emerging from the tent, they were greeted by a subdued, gray morning: low, flat clouds, a thin mist swirling through the treetops, drizzle …. Ray half expected to see a skein of caribou meandering through camp. Instead, he saw an enormous green tarp stretched across the entire excavation area. There were no people out. The tents looked quiet.

“Ever-body’s still sleepin’,” Billy Bob observed.

“I doubt that,” Ray said. “These folks get started early. They’re probably hanging out in the cafeteria.” He hoped that was the case. If everyone really was still asleep, they would be forced to leave without a meal. But leave they would. The sooner, the better.

They limped their way across the camp and were nearing the mess tent when one of the security guards materialized: Stubby, with a rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Is Dr. Farrell inside?”

The man nodded, sighing like an overburdened musk ox. The comparison seemed fair: enormous arms and legs, fat head, minuscule cowlike brain …. Ray found himself wondering if either of the brutes had come into contact with an errant hiker. Maybe Fred had strayed too near the dig, been mistaken for a Red Wolf miner and been dispatched by Chang and Chung. They seemed capable of killing someone. But tear off his head …?

He was struck by the fact that this once-deserted section of the Bush had become a hazardous obstacle course: gun-wielding Goliaths looking to give people ‘good beatings,” dope dealers guarding their produce, miners feuding with archaeologists ….

“Seen any hikers around here in the last couple of days? Any visitors from Red Wolf? Anybody, besides us, on the river … going south?”

Stubby sniffed and swaggered away.

“Thanks. You’ve been a great help.”

“Think da big man hurt Fred?” Lewis asked, eyebrows raised.

“No. But I thought I would ask. We’re here. Fred, whoever he was, was out here somewhere too. Might as well see if we can turn anything up.”

“Why not ask Dr. Gull-friend. Maybe she know. Maybe Fred her last boy-toy.”

“Zip it, Lewis,” Ray advised.

The cafeteria tent turned out to be brimming with activity: crew members lined up, waiting for their turn at the platters of bacon and eggs, others attending to their notebooks, some watching the video monitors. Except for the notable absence of music and booze, it was as if the research party from the night before had never come to an end.

Farrell spotted them as they lurched through the door. She waved them over to a table where a group of students were clustered around an array of open textbooks.

Ray couldn’t help noticing that Farrell seemed fresh, remarkably clean. He tried to imagine her out at the barrels bathing in the predawn rain, then immediately tried not to. Thankfully, her attire was more modest today: bulky U.W. sweatshirt, purple Husky cap.

When they reached her she greeted Ray with a smile and proceeded to rest her hand on his shoulder, as if they were old and dear friends.

Lewis snickered at this. “Aiyaa …”

Ray silenced him with a glare. “Dr. Farrell,” he started formally, stepping away from her hand. “We’ll be needing to …”

She waved him off. “I’ve got you all set up.” Pointing to an expedition-size backpack lying near the door, she said, “Just about everything you’ll need is in there. Chang and Chung will see you to the rafts.”

“Really, that’s not necessary …”

“And if you don’t mind,” she continued, “you’ll have an extra traveling companion.” She gave Ray’s arm a squeeze. “You have room for one more, don’t you?”

A dreadful montage raced through Ray’s mind: Farrell making passes at him on the Zodiac, making suggestive comments at the village, talking her way onto the floatplane, following him all the way back to his own doorstep, eyelashes fluttering.

“Well?” she prodded.

What was he supposed to say? No. You can’t come along in your own raft! Right. “Uh … sure,” he replied, his voice threatening to crack. “The more the merrier.”

TWENTY-FOUR

“S
EE?
I T
OLD
you they wouldn’t mind.” Farrell said this to the students behind her, and one of them, a coed, smiled politely in response. “Ray, this is Cindy.”

The girl stood and nodded at them. She was about twenty, Ray guessed, a redhead with powder white skin that was decorated with clusters of freckles. She might have been considered pretty had she not been standing so close to Farrell. The doctor’s striking beauty made Cindy seem plain.

“Cindy’s leaving us,” Farrell said in a tone that implied regret. Her face didn’t match this sentiment however. It was heavy and tired-looking, her eyes piercing. “We’re sad to see her go, of course, but …”

Ray waited for an explanation of why Cindy was leaving, better yet, why Farrell was sad about it. When there was none, he said, “Great.” He tried not to seem too relieved, but it was difficult. In a matter of minutes, they would walk out of there, minus Dr. Janice Farrell, and he would never see or hear from her again.

“Get some breakfast,” Farrell insisted.

Ray planted Billy Bob and Lewis at a table and left to get their meals. By the time he had served their plates and waited through the line again for his own food, they were finished. He shoveled in eggs and bacon, willing to risk indigestion in his rush to leave.

When they started for the door, Farrell caught them, slinging an arm around Ray.

“Listen … uh, thanks for your help,” Ray told her.

“No problem. Stop back by on your next time through the canyon. We’ll be here.”

Ray bent to retrieve the pack and to wrench himself from Farrell’s grip. “Oh, speaking of stopping by … have you had any hikers through here in the last few days?”

“Hikers?” She pronounced the word as if she didn’t know its meaning.

“Yeah. Or any other visitors, for that matter.”

She stuck out a lower lip to produce a convincing pout. “I don’t think so.”

“How about on the river? Have you seen anyone going south?”

“No.” She turned to address the crew. “Anybody see any hikers or floaters the last couple of days?”

Heads shook, shoulders shrugged.

“Nope. Guess not. Even the jerks from Red Wolf have been keeping their distance lately. Things have been pretty quiet thanks to Chung and Chang.”

“Okay … well … thanks.” Before Ray could react, dodge, or bob, Farrell was kissing him, full on the lips. It wasn’t especially long or passionate. Just unexpected. And inappropriate. The room was suddenly unnaturally still, as if E.F. Hutton were about to offer pearls of financial wisdom. Ray could feel his cheeks flushing.

“See you around,” she promised with a playful grin.

Not if I see you first, Ray felt like saying. “Uh … yeah … maybe …” The lump in his throat was restricting his breathing. “Let’s go,” he told Lewis and Billy Bob.

“I’m ready.”

For an instant, the voice sounded like Farrell’s. The message certainly fit. She seemed ready for anything, with just about anyone, apparently.

Ray twirled and stared at the coed. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“Just me,” she said with a frown.

“No, I didn’t mean …”

“Don’t worry about it.” She hoisted a pack over her shoulder and stood, waiting.

Chung and Chang appeared and, without speaking, one of them relieved Ray of all three of his packs and Cindy of hers. The other moved to pick up Billy Bob.

“Naw,” he said resisting. “I can walk. Perty much. I just need help.” He tried to use the attendant as a crutch, draping an arm around his neck. But the man was too wide for this. He was forced to grip a handful of jacket between the hulk’s shoulder blades.

As they set out, Ray wished he had a camera to record the event for posterity’s sake. No one would believe this. Yesterday’s motley crew was now a study in physical and cultural diversity: Lewis with a wounded wing, Billy Bob limping next to his gigantic nurse, Ray’s shirt telling the world through his open parka that he wanted to “be like Mike,” a carrot-topped student, and a human pack mule bearing four bags.

The caravan plodded along, leaving the camp behind. For the first quarter mile, not a word was spoken, the mood contemplative.

“Don’t let her bug you,” Cindy finally said, as if continuing a conversation.

The five men looked at her.

When it became clear that she intended the comment for Ray, he asked, “Who?”

“Janice.”

“She didn’t … uh … bug me … She just …”

“She has problems.”

“Agreed.”

Cindy chuckled. “Don’t take her act personally. She does that all the time.”

“Does what?”

“Comes on to guys. Flirts. Kisses men on the lips. Students, strangers …”

Lewis laughed. “Poor Ray. Thought he was true love.”

“Shut up,” Ray grumbled. Looking at Cindy, he asked, “Why does she do that?”

“To get back at Mark.”

“For what?”

Cindy sighed. “Everything.” She paused, then added, “He fools around on her.”

“Who Mark?” Lewis wanted to know.

“Janice’s husband,” Cindy informed.

“Why would anybody fool around when they was married to
that
woman?” Billy Bob wondered aloud.

Even Chung and Chang seemed puzzled by this. The procession continued on, skirting the meadow and its partition of poplars. The trees formed a ring of fire, their red and orange leaves luminescent in the misty, refracted light.

“They’ve never gotten along,” Cindy confided a minute later. “But things have gotten worse the last couple of years. She doesn’t understand him or meet his needs.”

“Why do they stay together?” Ray asked.

Cindy shrugged at this. “The way they treat each other, you’d think they were enemies or something.” After a pause, she lamented, “It’s a bad situation all around.”

Ray reflected on this. That would explain Farrell’s behavior. Sort of.

“It’s been especially bad lately. They’ve been going at it like a couple of alley cats. And in camp … Well, it’s not a good place to hold confidential discussions or work through personal problems, if you know what I mean.” She sighed, shaking her head. “The night before he left to go to Juneau, they had a real knock-down-drag-out.”

“Any idea what it was about?” Ray asked. It was none of his business, but …

Lewis and Billy Bob looked to her for an answer. Chung and Chang, though pretending to be impartial, were clearly interested in knowing too.

“Me,” Cindy peeped like a mouse.

The disclosure hung in the air, no one willing to acknowledge, much less push the issue and find out what it was about Cindy that had facilitated a marital dispute. It was easy enough to figure out. By her own admission, Mark had displayed a penchant for infidelity. Apparently the two of them had …

“Among other things,” she added meekly. “I was just the spark that set off the latest round.” After a pause she said, “Ever see
War of the Roses?”

“No,” Ray replied.

“I did,” Billy Bob declared. “Gooood movie.” The painkillers seem to be doing their job. The cowboy was smiling, eyes glazed. “Kath-leen Turner and Michael Douglas were ab-so-lute-ly grrreat.”

“Well, if you adapted the Farrells’ life to the big screen, it would be nearly identical to that movie. They can be pretty cruel to each other. Take the other night, for instance.”

“What happened?” Ray was almost embarrassed by his interest in this gossip. Almost. Not enough to change the subject.

“It started with Janice accusing Mark of sleeping with me.”

The party acted as if they hadn’t heard this: Billy Bob squinting against a sudden wave of pain, Lewis batting away mosquitoes, Chung and Chang concentrating on the trail, their eyes studying the tundra. Ray was ready to talk about something else.