Forever Dead (6 page)

“Let go, Cordi!” bellowed Ryan “Let go. For God's sake, Cordi, let go!”

I could feel the sun and wind on my face and the roaring, rasping power of the water. I didn't want to let go of my branch. It was my lifeline, wasn't it?

“Let go!” The terror in Ryan's voice seared into my brain; like an automaton, I reacted instinctively to the insistent fear in that voice, and I let go. Suddenly I was free of the river, winched back to safety, coughing and retching in the blessed sunshine, my mind numb. Ryan hauled me out of the water onto the tree trunk and hugged me in a grip almost as fierce as the river had hugged me moments before. I was awed by the tiny distance between life and death.

My legs felt like cement blocks as we struggled together along the fallen tree toward shore. We collapsed in a heap in each other's arms on the sunlit rocks, inches from the water. We lay there side by side, holding each other, shivering, and neither one of us spoke. The sun still shone, warming us. The wind still blew as though nothing had happened, and yet we had nearly died.

I watched the slight breeze shifting the leaves overhead, smelled the soil and the leaf litter, felt the soft, rich earth beneath my clammy, clothes-covered body, felt the scratches on my face, the ache in my limbs, the warmth
of the sun as the roaring surge of the rapids, constant and rough, thundered in my ears, setting my whole body on edge, the vibrations of that power dancing in my head, my body like a dishrag. I was limp and spent, but my mind was suddenly a kaleidoscope of thoughts, each one leading inevitably to the next, like water over the falls. I saw again the cliff that had risen straight up out of the bedrock by our canoe, jagged and crumbling, a scree of broken rock with boulders at its feet. I saw again something move at the top of the cliff and a flash of purple, caught and held by the sun, just before the boulder had come crashing down.

I lay there and heard the rapids calling my name, whispering death. I saw again the dead body, the pack in the tree, the aching emptiness of the camp, the golden fathomless stare of the cat, the chocolate bar — and the flash of purple where purple shouldn't have been.

“We could have been killed.” Ryan's voice was quiet, almost a whisper, and he rolled over and stared at me as he cradled his injured shoulder. His words hung between us, riding the roar of the rapids and magnifying the uneasiness I had felt at that deserted camp into the first tiny germ of fear.

“What the hell are you doing in my truck?”

The angry voice bellowed through the woods, and I nearly dropped the radio phone that I was desperately trying to use as I let out an involuntary yelp.

An enormous man stood at the edge of the woods where the trail I had taken, after splitting up with Ryan to find help, had met an old logging road. He was clenching his huge meat cleaver hands, and the tendons in his bull-sized neck stood out like ropes tightened to the splitting point. I did drop the phone then. I could only imagine the angry expression on his huge face because it was covered completely in thick black curly hair, from the enormous mustache to the bushy eyebrows to the hair sweeping over his forehead like a waterfall. The weight of hair on his face alone looked heavier than I am. His small dark eyes looked incongruous in the huge face. Maybe in his genetic code eyes had been considered a perk and he'd
cut back to save costs so that the rest of his body could be massive. They glinted at me like mica, as hard, dense, and unfeeling, the thoughts reflected there cold and inflexible, thoughts known only to himself, building up like steam behind his eyes.

I slowly got out of the truck, hands in the air, never taking my eyes off the guy, and very aware of my smaller size. Every movement was slow and deliberate. Like an unwanted stampede of butterflies I felt my body jarred by a shock of madly fluttering fear. If someone had just tried to kill us back there at the rapids, this guy was the perfect candidate. He'd had plenty of time to get back here ahead of us, and he was angry as hell. My thoughts were making me more and more nervous until it occurred to me that if he'd really wanted to kill us it would have made more sense to ambush us on the portage. Why wait until we left the portage for a road and risk having someone else chance upon us? I felt an enormous sense of relief at my own logic, but it was short-lived. I'd forgotten the critical information that he would have assumed we were both dead. I wished to God Ryan and I hadn't split up to look for help.

I leaned against the open door of the truck, more to keep my legs from shaking than anything else, as the behemoth approached me. I thought about turning to run, but he reminded me so much of a bear that illogically I felt that that would just ensure my annihilation.

“Get your bloody hands off my truck,” he said in a strangely quiet voice. I preferred the roar. He grabbed the door that lay between us before I had a chance to move away, and I felt his strength through the door as he bumped it into me, catapulting me backwards as I flailed out to keep my balance. He eyed me over the top of the door, his hands gripping the edge of the partly opened window. They were huge with great ugly red
newly minted scars slicing up from his fingers through his massive forearms. I looked behind him, hoping to see Ryan. I took a deep breath because that actually works sometimes and backed further away from the truck as he slammed the door shut with such force that the truck shook, and the sound fled down the road with its own echo on its heels.

“Sorry!” I held up my hands again, fear melting my legs into shaking jelly. Terribly undignified, but then my knees always knocked at public speaking contests at school. I pulled myself together and blurted out, “Sorry, but there's been an awful accident …”

The man suddenly moved closer to me and I instinctively stepped back, but he followed and stood towering over me.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” He kicked the stones in front of me with his elephantine foot and they bit into my legs like needles. “You got a lot of nerve. You and your bloody tree-hugging friends.” His face was red and sweaty, and I could smell his anger mixed unpleasantly with my own fear. This guy was unpredictable, the rage smouldering behind his eyes, barely under control. Yet he wasn't behaving like a man who wanted to kill me. He was more interested in his truck than in me. This gave me some confidence.

“I don't know who you are, but I sure could use some help right about now.” My voice broke on the last word and I hurried on, hoping he hadn't noticed. “I'm sorry about your truck but there's a body up in the bush and I need a phone to call the police. Your truck was the first thing I came across and it has a phone. I need it.”

He glowered at me.

“Yeah sure, lady. I've heard 'em all,” he said, but his anger spluttered. He was about to say something else, seemed to think better of it, and said instead,
“What body? Where?” His eyes narrowed to pinpoints, his anger suddenly turning into sharp-eyed interest, and something more. Was I imagining it? Or did he already know something about the body in the woods?

“It's back up the portage trail, above the falls, maybe a mile. There's a camp up there.”

I thought I saw a smile flit across his face, but it was hard to tell with so much of his face hidden by hair. He was standing very still, with his hands held loosely at his sides. Suddenly he raised them and chopped the air with a vicious downward motion that made me leap back, my heart convulsing.

“I don't give a good goddamn about any dead body. You damn screaming greenies can look after your own dead bodies, and if the guy's already dead, it's no emergency, is it?”

I must admit he had a point. He made a sudden move toward me and then froze as he fixed his gaze on something behind me, the expression on his face darkening another dozen shades. I slowly turned my head and saw Ryan running down the road, flanked on either side by a man and a woman. I was so relieved to see him that when he came up and took me by the arm to see if I was okay I nearly slid to the ground, my wobbly knees suddenly proving how much I needed them to hold me up. We stood together and watched as the man who had been with Ryan squared off with my behemoth, although I was interested to see that he took great care not to get within swinging distance of those huge arms.

“Cameron, what the hell are you doing here?” asked the man in a thin, wheezy voice. He was a slight, balding guy who was wearing a shirt several sizes too big for him. Despite the bravado in his words
he did not move any closer to the guy. Cameron's eyes narrowed to slits and his fists clenched, but he said nothing.

“This isn't part of your leasing area, it belongs to the university, and we don't take kindly to you trespassing here,” said the man.

“
You
! You have the fucking nerve to accuse me of trespassing.” Cameron lunged at the man, who anticipated Cameron's reaction and deftly ducked out of the way.

“You stinking son of a cowardly bitch,” said Cameron. “Why don't you put your fist where your mouth is?” He lunged again, but the woman, who, though taller than me, barely reached Cameron's chest, stepped between them as if they were two toddlers.

“Cameron, I think it best that you clear out.” Her voice was clipped: not rude, just emotionless. Her clear blue eyes were unblinking as they stood looking at each other. I thought some signal passed between them, but the moment was so fleeting that I couldn't be sure.

“It's not a good idea to come around here,” she said.

“Is that a threat,
Miz
Mitchell?” said Cameron with a heavy emphasis on the “Ms.”

“No, just a friendly piece of advice.”

He snorted, and then a slow smile spread across his face like lava across a valley, vindictive and delighted at some thought in his head. He turned to me.

“The only person I know that camps up there is that bastard who started all this. Must be his goddamned body. Serve him bloody well right, the nosey parker, trying to tell us what to do. As if he knows piss-all about forestry. Well, to hell with him and with all of you. I hope you fry in hell and I'll supply the devil with the fuel you lot are trying to martyr.”

He spat the words out like a bad taste he was happy to get rid of. He turned and got in his truck, slammed the door with exaggerated force, and floored it, sending gravel spraying out at us as he roared away.

“What the hell was that all about?” I asked, hoping that words might make my knees behave. I looked at the man, whose face had gone several shades paler.

He pinned me with his eyes, wild and sweaty, stumbled around his words, got his tongue in the right spot, and whispered, “What body?”

Ryan, who hadn't heard the question, turned to me and said, “I only just bumped into these two down by the biology station when I heard you yelp. Leslie Mitchell and Don Allenby, Cordi O'Callaghan.”

The woman inclined her head, but the man didn't seem to notice the introductions at all.

“Who was that guy?” asked Ryan, jerking his head in the direction of the departing truck.

Don's voice came again, louder, verging on hysteria.

“What body?” He was nervously wringing his hands and the sweat glistened on his forehead.

“His name is Cameron,” said Leslie, who glanced worriedly at Don before repeating his question. “What body?”

“A couple of hours ago we found a body up river at the beginning of the portage around the falls. I was about to tell you when we heard my sister yelp. We need to contact the police,” said Ryan.

“Oh, Jesus.” Don shook his head from side to side with a half moan.

“For god's sake, Don, get a hold of yourself,” snapped Leslie. She turned and looked at me. “Where?”

“We found it near the water about a hundred yards from a campsite of some sort.”

Don groaned and whimpered. “Oh, God. It's Jake.

It's gotta be Diamond. Oh, Jesus.”

“For Pete's sake, pull yourself together,” said Leslie, looking curiously at Don.

“That's his campsite up there. He's the only one who stays up there,” moaned Don. “He was due back tomorrow. It's not my fault. If he hadn't returned I was to give out the call. We all do that for each other. We go into the bush so often to do our fieldwork. It's mostly crown land. All our study sites are up this way, we're all biologists of some description or other. I work with small mammals: rabbits and things like that. Jake works with large mammals: Canada lynx, sometimes bobcat. Leslie here's a moose woman. And we do a lot of fieldwork. Our base station is the building around the corner, down the road. We use it as a jumping off spot for say a week, a month in the field at a time. Leslie and I …”

After this long speech he wiped his forehead with his shirtsleeve. “But Jake knew the bush, unbelievable he was. Not a better man than Jake in the bush. How could this happen to him? How could it be Jake? What the hell happened?”

Leslie stopped the flow of words with a chop of her hand.

“For Christ's sake, Don, pipe down. It may not be Jake. It's probably some poor sucker who got lost and panicked. Jake's too much of a bushman to get into trouble, and he's as healthy as an ox. He'll be along to tell us all about it. Besides, whoever it is, there's nothing we can do right now but get through to the police and report it.”

She looked at me and Ryan. “There's a CB radio in my car down the road. We can use that. Cell phones don't work up here — too remote.”

We walked in silence. Jake Diamond. The name rang some distant bell in my mind. I did of course know
of him as a mammalogist, but it was for something else that this little bell tolled.

“It's Jake. I know it is. It's Jake,” wailed Don with such sudden conviction it made me uncomfortable. I couldn't help but think that this trembling basket case knew something the rest of us didn't.

“What's this I hear about you finding a dead body? In pieces, no less. I'm gone three short weeks and you get yourself into trouble.”