Richard Laymon: Tread Softly

"I think I'll pull over and tan some hides," Arnold said.

"No!" Heather yelped.

"We'll be good," Rose said. "Promise."

"All right then. Now, do as your mother says and play something nice."

"Better yet," Nick said, "take a nap."

Rose rolled her eyes upward. "Are we almost there yet?"

"A couple more hours," Arnold told her.

The idea of a nap certainly appealed to Alice. She took the pillow from the space between her and Heather, fluffed it up, and placed it behind her head. Snuggling back against it, she closed her eyes. In quiet voices, the twins were discussing whether to play Hangman. She heard a rustle of paper. Good. That should keep them out of mischief for ten or fifteen minutes.

She wondered if Arnold had remembered to set the lamp timer before they left. No point bothering to ask, though. If he'd forgotten, it was too late now.

Her mind drifted to the last time she'd seen Scott O'Toole. They'd gone over for dinner and bridge. Scott had complimented her on her perm. That must've been over a year ago, closer to two. How could June walk out on a man like him? Must be more to it than meets the eye. Maybe he was fooling around on the side. Sure had plenty of opportunity, being away half the time. And those flight attendants. Everyone knows how they are. June was no slouch, not by any stretch of the imagination, but a guy like Scott'd be a real prize for lonely stews. A lot of temptation there. Take a strong man to resist.

Thank God Arnold stopped flying. He might have to work nights when the shift bid didn't go his way, but at least he came home to his own bed and wasn't alone in hotels all across the country. Would've been nice for him to have a pilot's pay and prestige, but she'd rather have him as he is. They got by just fine, thank you, and she didn't have to spend all her time worrying.

Poor June must've been worried sick, wondering if he'd go down or get himself shacked up with some stew. Who was that — Jack? — no, Jake. Jake Peterson. Had a whole second family in Pittsburgh. Must've come as quite a shock to his wife — both wives. Wasn't even a Mormon, not that that would've made it right, but… Alice's thoughts slipped away as sleep overtook her.

The road up the mountainside had once been paved, but winter snow, spring runoff, and summer sun had broken up the asphalt, leaving a dusty shambles. The car bounced over ruts and potholes as Scott steered slowly up the grade.

Ahead, a Volkswagen appeared around a bend.

"What now?" Karen asked.

"He's small." Scott eased the car to the right until branches squeaked against its side. He stopped.

"Hope he's careful," Karen said. She was gripping the armrest.

"If he's not," Scott told her, "he'll have a very thrilling ride for a few seconds."

A girl in the passenger seat of the VW had her head out the window. She was looking down, apparently contemplating just such a ride. From her perspective, Scott imagined that the sheer drop-off must look bottomless. After a moment, she pulled her head in and said something to the driver.

The VW crawled closer. The young bearded man behind the wheel grinned at Scott as he inched alongside. "Lovely day," he said.

"Yep," Scott agreed. "How far to Black Butte?"

"Take you an hour."

"The road get any better up ahead?"

"No. Tell you what, though, there's an RV about a mile behind me."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Have a good one, friend."

"You, too."

The Volkswagen finished passing, took to the center of the narrow road, and sped off with a cloud of dust.

"A camper?" Karen asked. She looked sick.

"What'll we do?" Julie asked from the back.

"I guess we'd do well to find a wider place in the road before he shows up."

"No sweat. Right, Dad?" Benny asked.

"No sweat," he said, and pulled away. He drove slowly, looking for a place to turn out. Ahead, the road bent back in an uphill hairpin. He took the curve. Now they were on the outside, the slope dropping away sharply to the right. "Maybe a little sweat," Scott admitted. He picked up speed. The car lurched and jarred as it rushed up the grade.

Should've played it safe, he thought. Should've stopped back at the bend. But now he was committed. What he could see of the road ahead didn't look good. The mountainside rose up steeply to the left, leaving no room for turning out. To the right, there was no more than a yard's width before the ground fell away. Even if he parked at the very edge, he doubted there would be room for a recreational vehicle to squeeze through.

"What'll we do?" Karen asked.

"If worse comes to worst, we can always back up."

"Oh, wonderful."

Scott's foot jumped off the accelerator as the camper came down the center of the road straight at them. In a reflexive move, he pulled at the wheel as. if to raise the nose and shoot above the oncoming vehicle. His car remained earthbound. He stepped on the brake, and eased to a halt.

The camper moved over close to the mountain's wall and stopped, blocking two thirds of the road. An arm poked through the driver's window. It waved Scott forward.

"Can you make it?" Karen asked.

"Sure," he said. "Just to be on the safe side, though, I want you out." He looked over his shoulder. "Everybody out."

"I'm not scared," Benny said.

"No arguments."

With a sigh, Benny opened his door. When he, Julie, and Karen were outside the car, Scott unbuckled his seat belt. The trio walked ahead of him, Karen nodding and speaking to the man behind the wheel. At the rear of the camper, they stopped and turned around to watch. Karen straddled the road's edge, her eyes fixed on his right front tire. Her lips were drawn back in a grimace. She wiped her hands on the sides of her corduroy shorts.

This must be really bad for her, Scott thought as he inched forward. Karen knows no one's immune to an accident. She'd barely escaped death in a car crash three years before, and her fiance had been killed.

With the fingers of his left hand curled around the door lever, he steered alongside the camper. He watched its gleaming side as he slid past it, no more than an inch away. If the car should start to tip, he realized, he wouldn't be able to get his door open.

Not at first anyway. He might find an instant, though, just before the car slipped over the edge.

He glanced at Karen. Her hand was covering her mouth. Benny looked relaxed. Julie was squatting down, hands on knees, staring at the tire.

Ice fishing when he was a kid, Scott drove out on the frozen Saint Lawrence River with his father. Sometimes, the ice creaked and groaned under the weight of the pickup truck. They always kept their doors open for quick escapes. Everyone did, driving on the river. Everyone but fools.

He wished he had his door open now. A little precaution like that could save a man's life.

The front of his car was even with the rear of the camper. He fought an urge to speed up, and kept to a steady crawl until he cleared the vehicle. Then he swung to the left and stopped in the road's center.

Benny climbed in first. "Boy, Dad, that was really close."

"A piece of cake," he said, and backhanded the sweat off his upper lip.

"Hope we don't have to go through that again," Julie said.

Karen slumped in the passenger seat with her knees against the dash. She stared straight ahead. Her lips were a tight line.

Reaching out, Scott rubbed the side of her neck. "You okay?"

"I guess," she muttered.

After another traverse, the road curved around the mountainside to a high, wooded valley. A weathered sign, caught in a patch of sunlight, read BLACK BUTTE RANGER STATION, 6 MI.

The forest, pressing in close on both sides of the unpaved road, opened up. Karen saw two cars ahead, parked under trees. One, a dusty Mazda resting at a rakish angle, had a rock at the base of each rear tire to keep it from rolling.