Richard Laymon - Tread Softly

"I'll check around," Flash said. He left the sheltering poncho. With the knife in one hand and his flashlight in the other, he walked to the far side of Karen's tent. He stepped behind it, being careful not to trip over the guy line. He shined his light on the blue fabric long enough to see that it hadn't been rent. Then he swept the beam across the pines, the bushes, the head-high clump of broken granite. The light threw squirming shadows that sent a chill up his back, but he saw no one. He moved on. Behind the next tent, a sudden voice made him jump.

"Who's there?" Julie asked.

"It's me."

"Something wrong?"

"No. Just checking around."

The tent after that was his. He knew it was deserted but he flashed his light across its rear, just in case. It looked all right. He stepped to the last tent. "Just me," he said quietly, in case Alice or the girls should be worried. There was no response. They must be asleep, he thought, but he felt a stab of fear. He put his light on the tent. The red fabric, shiny with running water, was intact.

He made a last check of the trees and rocks behind the tent, then hurried around to the front. The flaps were zipped shut. He opened them. Ducking low, he swept his light over the three crowded, motionless shapes. They looked okay. He shut the zipper, and walked toward Nick.

"Is everything all right?"

"So far. We'd better check once in a while, though. We're awfully vulnerable back there." He sat on the stump with his back to Nick, and pulled the poncho forward to shield him.

For a long time, Flash stared into the darkness. His eyelids grew heavy. His mind drifted. He imagined he was driving through the rain, fighting hard to stay awake. Alice cried out, "Don't hit him!" and there was a one-armed man staggering up the road, pale in the headlights, a hatchet embedded in his chest. Flash shot his foot at the brake pedal. The heel of his boot skidded on the wet ground and he snapped awake as he started to fall. He caught himself. He wondered how long he'd been out.

Twisting around, he saw that the stump behind him was deserted. He spotted Nick in back of the tents, the flashlight beam sweeping over the rocks and trees.

"Everything shipshape?" Flash asked when the boy returned.

"No problem." Nick sat down and covered his head. "Maybe she won't try anything."

"Sure hope not. We've gotta stay on our toes, though." The warning was more to himself than to his son. He was ashamed of falling asleep. He wouldn't let it happen again.

When he felt himself becoming groggy, he went into his lent for cigars. He returned to the seat, unwrapped a cigar, and clamped it between his teeth. He pulled the poncho lot ward enough to shield the cigar from the rain. To save his night vision, he shut his eyes when he struck the mutch. Then there was only the soft red glow of his cigar. I lash smoked slowly. When only a hot, bitter stub remained, he tossed it down and crushed it under his boot. "Still with us?" he asked Nick.

"I'm awake."

"I'll make the rounds."

He stood up, and stretched his stiff back. His light probed the darkness ahead of him. A shape lurched from behind one of the pines, and his heart seemed to jump. Nothing but a shadow. He satisfied himself that no one lurked among the trees or crouched in the tumble of rocks, then turned his beam to the back of the tent.

For an instant, he thought the two-foot vertical slash was another trick of light — nothing more than a shadow. Crouching, he set the knife by his foot and touched the slit. It parted, and his fingers slid in.

He muttered, "Jesus."

Shoving the flashlight through the gap, he tugged the fabric wide. It split more. He dropped to his knees and peered inside.

Scott squinted up at him. He looked alarmed. His forehead was smeared with blood.

"It's me," Flash said.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Karen, beside Scott in the sleeping bag, raised her head. She squeezed her eyes shut when the light hit her. The left side of her face was swollen and discolored. So was her mouth and chin. A speck of fresh blood glistened above one eyebrow.

"Flash?" Scott said.

"Someone was here. I've gotta. "he shoved himself away from the tent, staggered backward, and caught his balance. "Nick!" he yelled. "Check Julie!" He rushed past Julie's tent, glimpsing its gashed fabric. His own was the same. He fell to his knees at the rear of the last tent, rammed his flashlight through the split, and yanked a wide opening. Alice lurched upright.

"It's me."

Her forehead was bloody.

"What's going — "

"See if the girls are okay."

Rose was already lifting her head. She blinked into the light. There was blood on her right cheekbone.

Alice shook Heather awake. The girl was buried in her sleeping bag. As she scooted forward, Flash saw a small patch of blood at the top of her head.

Alice touched her daughter's bloody hair, then looked at her finger. "What's going on?" she asked in a low, frightened voice.

"I don't know," Flash said. "Somebody — "

"They're okay!" Nick called. "They're both cut, though."

"Get dressed," he said into the tent. "We're getting out of here."

"Tonight?" Alice asked.

"Right now. As soon as we can break camp."

Benny, sitting on top of his sleeping bag, shoved his foot into a boot as Julie slipped a poncho over her head. She started crawling toward the tent flap held open by Nick. Benny blurted, "Don't leave me here!"

"All right. But hurry." She stopped. "Do you know what's going on?" she asked Nick.

"I don't know."

Benny got his other boot on. "Ready," he said. Grabbing his poncho, he followed Julie outside. He stood up and donned the poncho, thrusting his head through the hooded hole.

Mr. Gordon came around from behind the last tent.

"Is everybody okay?" Nick called.

"Just cut. Nothing serious. Christ!"

"They're all cut?" Nick asked.

"All of 'em."

"I don't get it."

"Neither do I."

The front of Karen's tent bulged and Dad crawled out, wrapped in a sleeping bag. Karen came out next. She wore gray sweatpants and a quilted parka that reached only to her waist. Her floppy hat covered her head. Her feet were bare.

Looking at her, Benny got a hollow ache in his chest. "Are you hurt much?" he asked.

"Not bad," she said. She slipped a hand from her pocket and held it out to him. He clasped it gently.

"I think we should haul ass outa here," Mr. Gordon said. "What do you think?"

"Is everyone okay?" Dad asked.

"So far. But who knows what we're up against? We're too damn vulnerable here. I say we move out. Once we're on the trail, we can see what's coming. The trip's shot anyway, right?"

"I'd say so," Karen muttered.

"Leave the body here?" Dad asked.

"It's gone," Julie said.

Benny felt Karen's fingers tighten around his hand.

"Either the guy wasn't dead," Mr. Gordon explained, "or someone snuck in and made off with him."

"It had to be that woman," Nick said.

"What woman?" Dad asked.

Nick repeated the story about the three girls who'd been swimming here yesterday until a weird woman yelled at them and frightened them away. "She must be the one who slashed the tents, too," he added.

"Why would anyone do that?" Karen asked. "It'd make sense if she wanted to cut our throats, but. "

"Just one woman," Mr. Gordon said, "couldn't have killed everyone. Not with two or three to a tent, and me and Nick on watch. She might've got a couple of us, but we'd have nailed her."

"Why just scratch us, though? What does that accomplish?"

"You don't suppose. " Julie's lips drew back, and she shook her head.

"What?" Nick asked.

"It's crazy."