Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

A slight movement at the edge of the clearing drew his attention. He watched with knowing satisfaction as the man eased into the clearing, trusting nothing as he gazed around him. Too far away to see facial expression, he was immediately aware when the man in the clearing accepted what had happened to the girl. He could tell by body language alone. He could feel the rage emanating from the man, and suppressed the urge to run and hide as the man in buckskins suddenly turned and looked up the mountain. Seemingly right at him. Ah, he’s good. He feels. It’s proper this man should find this latest offering.

After all… what good is a sacrifice—If no one sees it?

Trent was still two days from Base Camp when he cut Katherine’s trail again. She’d lost him the day before, but knowing her ultimate destination he just continued toward the army camp.

Now he followed a small tributary that flowed toward the Upper Jacks Fork on the Currant River. The small stream kept ducking down into the limestone of the mountain, and then reappearing farther along. As with most of this area in Missouri, Mother Nature reclaimed the land it lost to man, and recovered it in an amazingly short amount of time.

Any travel was slow going. There weren’t many paths, just an occasional game trail. He followed a meandering stream, stomach growling ominously, hoping for a shot at a whitetail deer. As he rounded a large oak tree with a trunk nearly five feet across, he glimpsed a pool of water ahead. The pool was beautiful, surrounded by high cattails, vines, and forest fern, with water chuckling in from an outcropping of lichen-covered limestone on the high side.

It was a beautiful scene of a natural green grotto in the forest—but not nearly as beautiful as the girl kneeling in the clear water. The pool was in a small limestone basin, and almost completely hidden from all directions. If he’d come to it from any other way, he might have missed her.

He watched, mesmerized as the girl washed herself with a mat of moss, and then submerged to rinse off, coming up to catch the few rays of sunlight in her spun gold hair, water running rivulets down her body. High breasted and slim hipped, this vision contrasted sharply with the camp followers he was used to seeing, or even women in the few settlements that were springing up. He suddenly realized the girl in the pool was Katherine.

He stood for uncounted minutes, unabashedly watching the girl in the pool. All the old memories—the wants and desires, hearth and home, children playing, the sharing—all the things he ever dreamed of came bursting through his veins in a flash of emotion. For a moment, his senses reeled just from the sheer desire of something so normal again.

Silently easing through the underbrush, he found her pile of clothing. With a small smile, he made some adjustments.

While he watched her, she’d turned her back to him. Now she turned again, and stood to come out of the pool. Her hands were up in her hair, twisting it into a braid, and squeezing the water out. The blond hair, darkened by the water, was long, with a natural healthy sheen few women had anymore. She looked around the perimeter of the pool, testing the breeze like an animal.

The one place she didn’t look was toward him, which gave him the only clue of what came next.

Suddenly, as she got closer, she lunged in a flat dive for her weapons. Her hands hit the pile of clothes and she came up with the Browning in one hand, and her knife in the other. Facing Trent, who was sitting nonchalantly on a rock, she bore no resemblance to the silky Lilith who had just been bathing in the pool. With eyes hard as agate, she stood in a fighter’s stance. Her hair clung wetly to her neck and fell across her chest, but didn’t conceal the dirt and leaves sticking to her breasts and upper part of her body. Her eyes were wide with adrenaline—blue ice on white snow.

Her breathing started to settle down, as she recognized him and decided he didn’t present any immediate danger. The smile he was giving her, and the appreciative gaze over her body, didn’t do anything to improve her disposition.

“Enjoying the show?” Her voice was soft and throaty.

He chuckled. “Oh, yes.”

She thumbed back the hammer on the Browning. “Get the hell out of here.”

“Not yet.” Trent smiled a little larger.

She pulled the trigger and the hammer fell on an empty chamber. There was no change in her expression, the usual widening of the eyes just before action, no warning at all. Just—click.

The second surprise came when, without any hesitation, she threw the empty pistol at him, then followed it in with her knife, cutting edge up. Anyone watching would have laughed as he awkwardly lunged backward off the rock. The first sweep with her knife threatened decapitation, and then she came right over the rock, and landed in the middle of him while he was still rolling.

They came to a stop with her on top, knife ready to plunge, but the barrel of his pistol nestled under her chin.

“Mine’s loaded.”

Water dripped from her hair onto his face, as she panted in anger as much as the exertion. Her breath smelled of the spearmint leaves she had been chewing, and her eyes were shining hard with resolve. For a minute, he thought she’d try it. She was mad and scared, and it was in her to try to end it right here, and decide her fate with her own hand.

Gradually, a little sanity returned and her eyes turned wary, because she had seen something in his eyes, too.

He would kill her, and she was not ready to die.

“Easy, Katherine. Let’s not make any mistakes.”

With her weight settled in on top of him, and her breasts swinging above his face, he was having a real hard time keeping his mind on the matter at hand. Slowly, keeping the gun at her throat, he rolled her off onto her side, and took her knife. Nearly identical to his, it would have gutted him easily. As he knelt over her, seeing the fear and dread in her expression, he realized what she expected next.

Standing up, he reached down and took her arm, pulling her to her feet. He looked straight into her eyes. She didn’t shrink away from him, or try to cover herself. She stood defiant before him, and he liked her even more for it.

He thought how his attempt at a little fun almost turned disastrous. “Look.” He smiled at her. “I am sorry. I was out of line and it was a poor joke. But you should know better than this—whatever you are thinking. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Why should I know better?” She said hotly, her angry gestures making her jiggle in places he tried not to watch. “I don’t even know you.”

“You will,” he said gruffly, and gave her a gentle shove back toward the water. “Wash up, and get dressed.”

She looked at him, doubtful, speculation furrowing her brow.

“We’ll talk.”

As she looked at him wonderingly, he walked away. She suddenly realized she was standing naked, and rushed back to the pool—and her clothes.

A short distance away, he saw a shallow depression where an old cedar grew up against a bluff, and would diffuse the small amount of smoke from the hatful of fire he built. He went to retrieve his pack, and put some water on to boil. The place he chose was concealed from a casual observer, and was the best he could do at the time.

Looking up, he saw the girl standing by the fire. Shifting her weight from one foot to the other, she looked like she might bolt away at any moment. He noticed she had her weapons, though.

“You took my bullets.” Her tone indicated he would also suck eggs and eat raw skunks.

Trent reached into his pouch, and brought out the clip of .380s. Handing her the shells, he smiled slightly and said, “Sorry.”