Scott Williams - The Pulse

But, despite these doubts, Casey knew it would soon come down to fighting for her life anyway, as Derek was beginning to lose patience with his fantasy that she would somehow voluntarily come to like him and want to be his wild woman, enjoying the life he had dreamed of even before the lights went out. She could tell by the way that he looked at her that her time of being left alone was coming to a close. When he had first taken her captive, she would have never believed that he would have restrained himself this long, especially considering that he had already watched her naked, bathing in the river that first day. She could only surmise from listening to him talk that he had little, if any, experience with women, having lived most of his life as a loner, and never fitting into any social groups as an adult or teenager. Apparently his ideas of relationships were skewed by the many fantasy adventure novels he’d read along with his philosophy books, and he thought that winning her heart would be as simple as demonstrating his prowess as a hunter and woodsman—skills no one could deny were more valuable at the moment than the ability to earn a high salary.

But along with his ill-informed notions of romance between men and women, it was also clear that he regarded her as his property. It was one thing that he had taken her against her will, but now he expected her to follow his orders and do whatever work needed doing around camp. This included chopping firewood from the dead branches he dragged to the fire pit from the surrounding woods, cooking their meals, and washing pots and utensils in the bayou. On occasion, when she was awkwardly trying to swing the heavy axe to cut up the wood, the thought crossed her mind that she could use it as a weapon. The only problem was that every time he made her do this work, he was standing there watching her, out of range of the axe but easily close enough to rush in and disarm her if she tried anything. She also considered the guns. If she had to kill him to escape, she could imagine herself shooting him from a distance a lot more easily than she could contemplate something as violent as hitting him with an axe. But he was careful to keep the guns out of her reach in the tree house when she was untied, and never let her near them unsupervised. In addition, while in camp he often carried the short lever-action carbine hanging from one shoulder on a rifle sling. Though she looked for opportunities, there was never a time when she would have had a reasonable chance of making for one of the firearms and turning it on him before he could stop her. But Casey was determined to escape, and determined to keep looking for that opportunity and to take it when it presented itself. She was not going to give up and become this man’s slave and worse.

Today he was gone longer than usual, giving her lots of time to think about all these things as she pondered her dismal future. When he did return to the camp sometime around mid-day, she saw the reason. Apparently, he had traveled farther to hunt that day and had taken the time to hide and ambush a young female deer. He walked into the clearing with the bloody carcass slung over one shoulder, grinning with pride at his accomplishment. Casey had gotten used to eating the wild game that Derek brought in, and had even gotten good at cooking it over the fire, but she still didn’t like the sight of the dead animals before he dressed them. The deer was much worse than the small game. It was a pathetic-looking remnant of a once-beautiful and graceful animal, hanging limp, one glazed eye seemingly staring back into hers.

“We’ll be eating well for a long time now. I’ll rig up a shelter for smoking all this meat and then I won’t have to go hunting for a while. I know you’ll like that. I won’t have to leave every morning and we’re going to have a lot more time together. Now get over here and help me hang her up off the ground so the ants won’t get on the meat.”

Later that afternoon, Derek went back to work on the deer and finished the job of removing the skin, carrying the bloody hide to the edge of the bayou to wash it. Then he returned to the fire pit where Casey was sitting, watching the venison steaks roasting on green branches directly over the coals.

“Now I’m going to be able to make you a nice buckskin dress, to go with that pair of moccasins I’ve been working on. First this hide’s got to be scraped; then we’ll tan it with the deer’s brains. I bet you didn’t know it, but every animal has enough brains to tan its own hide. That’s how the Indians did it, and it makes the finest buckskin that can be had. I want you to watch closely, because this is women’s work and you’ll be doing the next one.”

Derek had cut some stakes from a small sapling with the axe. He used the blunt side of it to hammer them down, then laid the axe back down behind him, on top of the pile of firewood Casey had prepared earlier. Punching holes in the corners of the hide with his knife, he stretched it out between the stakes until it was tight, the hair side down, against the ground. Then he showed Casey how to scrape away the fat and bits of meat that still clung to it, using the edge of his hunting knife, turned at a 90-degree angle to keep from cutting into it.

“Here, you try it,” he said, holding the knife out to her.

“Okay, but can you give me a minute? I need to go over in the woods and use the bathroom.”

“Make it quick!”

When she was done, Casey returned to the fire, knowing she would be forced to do the disgusting work of scraping the deer hide. As she walked nearer, it suddenly struck her that Derek was totally preoccupied with the hide, not bothering to look up when she approached. His back was to her and he was bent over it on his knees, pulling the knife across it in long, two-handed strokes. She glanced at the woodpile and saw the axe. It was lying there forgotten, completely out of his field of view.

Casey realized that at last she had a chance to do something decisive about her situation. It was the best opportunity she’d had during the entire time she’d been this man’s prisoner, and there might not be another like it for a long time, if ever. There was no time to be squeamish or even let herself think about the fact that her captor was a fellow human being, just like her. There was only time to act, and that’s what she did. Without making a sound, she bent over and picked up the heavy tool, then shifted her grip to grasp the handle with both hands. She brought it back over her shoulder to gather all the strength she could muster, and swung it as hard as she could, knowing she had only one chance and that she’d better not miss or hold anything back.

She felt the shock of the impact all the way through her arms and into her shoulders. The axe blade struck with a dull thud and she could feel something give as Derek’s head absorbed the blow. His body slumped forward onto the stretched deerskin, and she wrenched the handle back to free the axe in case she needed to hit him again. But it was clear that there was no need. One of his legs was twitching, but he would never get back up. She could see that she had split the back of his skull with one blow, and she threw the axe aside in horror, turning away from a sight that she knew she would never be able to forget. She looked nervously around the clearing, as if she expected to see witnesses that would testify to this brutal murder she’d just committed, but she was all alone. She told herself again that she had done what she had to do. She’d had no choice if she wanted to ever be free to leave.

Casey stepped away from the fire pit and quickly climbed up the wooden ladder to the tree house. She began collecting the things she knew she would need, starting with Derek’s lever-action carbine, the .22 rifle, and the AK-47 with the folding stock. Then she rummaged through his backpack and found her father’s pistol. Once she had all the guns gathered up, she opened one of the ammo cans and sorted out a few boxes of shells, reading the labels to make sure she had some for each weapon. Then she opened the five-gallon buckets to go through the food supplies, and filled one to the top with bags of rice and canned goods before resealing the lid. She then put the guns and ammo in one of the big duffel bags and loaded a smaller pack with butane lighters, insect repellent, a cooking pot, a can opener, and other necessities Derek had among his gear. It took her three trips to carry all this stuff from the tree house to the edge of the bayou and load it in the canoe. Each time she walked back into the camp to get another load, she couldn’t help but glance at the body beside the fire pit, just to make sure Derek was really dead and no longer a threat to her.