Fall of Venus (4 page)

“Are
you sure?” shouts Marcus. “The rapids look pretty fierce here. We could go a
little further and see if there’s a safer place to cross.”

The
foamy, white water is a ferocious stampede. Getting caught in its path would
mean certain death. I know it’s risky to cross here, but I need to quiet my
thoughts before I get too emotional in front of this total stranger.

“We
don’t know what’s up ahead. I’d rather just cross now and get it over with. You
scared?” I raise my brow and smirk.

Marcus
cocks his head and grins back, “You’re quite the daredevil, huh? Okay, looks
like an adventure. Let’s do it.”

Marcus
insists on going ahead of me. He’s turning out to be quite the gentleman. And
to think, just this morning I was running from him like a fox from a hound.

We
climb up onto a large stone on the bank and assess the crossing. There are
seven gigantic stones between the stone where we stand and the opposite bank.
It looks almost as if the stones were placed here intentionally for a crossing.
They all look large enough to hold both of us at the same time. The distance
between them should be narrow enough for us to jump over, although it is
difficult to judge the distance between the stones at the other side.
 

Marcus
hops onto the first stone then I follow behind him, wobbling a bit on the
slippery, uneven surface. He stays there until I regain my balance, before
hopping to the next stone. The first jump was easy, with only about a two-foot
distance between the stones. The next jump I almost lose my footing, but Marcus
grabs my waist, keeping me from falling into the spumy deathtrap. Despite the
danger that encompasses us, I find myself titillated by his touch. The sides of
my waist tingle with his residual energy, distracting me from the task at hand.

Marcus
hops to the third stone and turns to me. I extend my leg and leap across.
 
Marcus catches my arms and steadies me,
as if he knew I would need the extra support.

The
next stone is a very short hop, but my mind is no longer in the moment. I skip
across and the first thing I notice upon landing is that my shoe is soaking wet
and water is quickly climbing up the leg of my capris.

Chapter
4

My
overconfidence and distraction caused me to miss the stone completely and I’m
quickly sinking into the river. But Marcus’s quick reflexes react and he grabs
my right hand before the river washes me away. He clenches his jaw. His face
reddens and strains, forming deep wrinkles on his forehead.
 
The veins in his arms protrude like the
mountain ranges on a textured map. He’s playing tug of war with the river, and
right now we’re losing. From the lack of food, we are both weak and tired. It
seems we used our last bit of energy sprinting for the river.

The
velocity of the cool water smacks my face like a thousand sharp fingernails
scratching my skin. Water penetrates every orifice of my body—my eyes, my
nose, my ears. I’m even swallowing more water than I can handle and I cough
violently as I inhale it into my lungs.

Despite
his tight grip on me, I can feel myself slipping through Marcus’s rough hands.
Jolts of panic are erupting throughout my body. Fear and hysteria slither
through my veins.
I’m not ready to die. Not like this!
The thoughts racing through my mind are
incomprehensible. Visions of Glenn, Evie, and Drake pop in and out, like a game
of whack-a-mole. Even images of Marcus and other faces I don’t recognize appear
in my mind. But there’s no time to analyze my thoughts.
 
I just need to survive.

Somehow,
underneath the rushing rapids, my foot catches a hard object, a rock perhaps,
and I am able to anchor myself and push up high enough for Marcus to grasp my
slippery left hand. He mouths something to me, but I cannot hear over the
whooshing deluge of water encasing me.

Again,
he yells out. This time I can make out the muffled words, “Hold on!” With my
foot pressing against the rock I give one final push before the rock dislodges
and once again my feet are suspended among the galloping white currents. But it
doesn’t matter anymore. Marcus has a good grip on my hands and hauls me up onto
the stone. I don’t know how he managed to harness the strength to lift my
130-pound body. But I’m grateful.

“That
was close,” he says, panting breathlessly.

I’m
so winded, I can’t even speak yet. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on
tight as if one slight shift would land me back in the water. He holds me as
well, despite my soaking wet clothes. His heartbeat pounds against my breast. I
really thought that was it. That I was going to die. Marcus saved my life--for
the second time today. Had we not found each other, I’m sure I’d be dead
already.

My
body is shaking tumultuously, either from the cold water or the surge of
adrenaline. Marcus guides me to sit down on the stone. We both rest for a few
minutes, catching our breath and trying to regain some strength to finish our
trek.

But
sitting here, surrounded by the gushing water, only enhances my fear. I need to
get to dry land. Now. Adrenaline is still pulsating through my body and I
stand, ready to make the next jump and get it over with. Marcus follows.

“Are
you sure?” he asks.

I
nod and finally I manage to find my voice, “If you are ready, let’s finish it.”
He nods and takes his place in front of me.

There
are only three large stones left to cross. He jumps to the next one cautiously
and turns to me, ready to catch me if I should slip again. But I don’t. We
pause on this stone knowing that rushing through this could be a fatal mistake.
Marcus raises his eyebrows as if to ask me if I’m ready to move on. I nod.

As
he turns to jump, my eyes focus on a little patch of moss atop the large,
slippery stone. When I was little, I wanted to have a yard full of nothing but
moss. We had a few patches of it at my home growing up. I used to take off my
shoes and walk barefoot over it. It was so soft, like walking on a fluffy
pillow. And I never had to worry about snakes or spiders or other creatures
that might hide, camouflaged, among long blades of grass. The moss was
comforting, safe. But it turns out to be the opposite at this precise moment.

It
feels like slow motion when I replay it in my mind. Marcus jumps and lands
directly on the moss. His foot glides off and the rapids wash him away.

“Marcus!”
I scream. But there is no reply. He is spiraling down the river, soon to be out
of sight, and I snap into action, knowing I must hurry. Without a second
thought I jump to the next stone, taking care not to land on the moss. Then I
take another step and jump to the final stone before a small leap to the shore.

I
am running. No, sprinting. Just as I did when I heard the water earlier. But
I’ve lost sight of Marcus. I keep running at full pace, screaming his name,
turning my head occasionally to make sure I don’t run into any trees or trip on
any stones.

I
don’t know how far I have run, but what I see ahead terrifies me. The river and
the land seem to come to an abrupt end, with only the hazy grey sky in the
distance. I creep up to the edge, slowly now, and peer over the cliff. A
waterfall plummets the length of an eight-story building and ends in a calm,
quiet stream. The realization hits me that I may have lost Marcus already to a
violent, watery grave. I scan the stream below, but I don’t see his lifeless
body anywhere.

With
a glimmer of hope, I turn back to the rushing rapids. That’s when I spot him.
Dangling under a fallen tree limb, wedged between two large stones. He looks
conscious, but barely hanging on. Even if he had shouted for me, the crashing
of the waterfall would have muted him.

I
scan the area, searching for a way to help him. Marcus is surrounded by a small
grove of trees and undergrowth lining the river. There is really no easy way to
reach him. By the look of his limp body I don’t have much time to spare, so I
push my way through a tangled web of twisted branches and thorns to reach the
riverbank. The thorns slice my arms and legs, but my determination shields me
from the pain. Marcus saved my life twice today. It’s time for me to repay the
debt. I raise my hands to shield my face from the thorns. I already have that
nasty scar on my face and don’t want to open it up again.

Finally
I arrive at a tree that has snapped low in the trunk, still held together by a
strong, flexible strip of bark. The fallen end is all that is keeping Marcus
alive for the moment. The only way I can reach him safely is to climb out on
the fallen tree. I’ve crossed streams before on fallen trees and limbs. I’m
quite good at it actually. Once, when I was about twelve, I crossed a ten-foot
wide creek blindfolded on a six inch diameter fallen tree, on a dare of course.
But this is different. I hesitate, because the tree has rotted and looks very
unstable. But left with no other choice, I lift myself up and straddle the
tree.

The
frustration of having to move so slowly when time is so precious is
overwhelming. But I must not move too fast or I will risk breaking the fragile
wood beneath me. As I inch closer I see that Marcus is beginning to lose his
grip. His body is weak and his raw fingers strain to hold on to the tree.
I’ve
got to move faster.
With every shuffle I
hear the crackling of fibers breaking in the tree beneath me. I lean forward to
lie on my stomach, distributing my weight more evenly over the tree, and manage
to move a little more quickly, slithering down towards Marcus.

One
last slide on my belly and I’ve reached him, and with no time to spare.
Pressing my weight into the large stone the tree is leaning on, I grab his arm
and pull with every last ounce of my body. I don’t know where it comes from,
but I feel this intense strength flowing from within me. Marcus flips his body
over and makes a feeble effort to pull his body up onto the rock. But he is too
weak, and I have to find the strength to pull harder.

Once
his shoulders are above the stone, I grip Marcus under his arms, press my feet
into the stone, and pull backward with the entire weight of my body. He slides
up and then I grasp the waist of his pants, hauling him up further. Finally, I’ve
managed to pull his body onto the rock, his weight being the only thing keeping
me from falling backward into the raging rapids. There’s not enough room for
the both of us on the stone, so I climb back on to the fallen tree. Marcus is
weary, but alert.

As
my body relaxes my muscles begin to ache. Sharp, burning sensations on my
forearms and calves remind me of all the thorns I pushed through to get
here--and that I will have to endure that torture again. I realize the longer I
sit here, the more it is going to hurt when I really start moving. I hate to
push Marcus, as weak as he is, but we need to move on.

“Marcus,”
I shout over the turbulent currents, “do you think you can make it across this
tree?” He looks up at me and pushes himself up to his knees on the stone.

“Yeah,
I think I can manage,” he says, breathlessly.

“Be
careful. It’s not very strong. Wait until I’ve crossed before you get on,” I
shout.

He
nods in reply.

With
care, I twist around and stretch my body across the tree on my belly. I slowly
slide my body, inch by inch, back up toward the trunk. Relieved to be on dry
land again, I get off and turn to find that Marcus is already halfway up the
tree. My body tenses when I hear the sound of a thousand tiny snaps. The tree
is about to break, but he keeps moving. The way he glides up the tree on his
belly is breathtakingly graceful and snakelike. Beautiful. I only realize I’ve
been holding my breath when he reaches the thorny stump and collapses on the
ground. Finally, we can both relax. Or so I thought. I was about to collapse on
the ground next to Marcus when I’m startled a sharp
POW
and feel the path of a bullet graze my left arm.

Chapter
5

With
no time to find a safe way out of the tangled nest of leafless tree branches
and thorny bushes, we dive right through. Marcus seems to have found his second
wind and shoves me forward. Being shot at does that to you. When we emerge from
the dense cavern of brush, I look back to see those three crazy mountain men
upstream coming towards us, aiming their rifles.

Marcus
pulls my arm but I resist. “We can’t go that way!” I say, remembering the
crashing waterfall.

“We’ve
got no choice!” he shouts at me. Another bullet whizzes by, alarming me into
submission. I go with him, but stop short of the ledge and take another peek
down. It’s so steep. I wouldn’t say I’m afraid of heights, but, then again,
I’ve never stood at the threshold of a cliff, preparing to jump. I’m not even
sure if we would survive the fall. And if so, what kinds of injuries we might sustain.
Marcus is still holding on to my arm when I hear another gunshot, this time
much closer. Marcus pulls me again and I jump without hesitation.

I’ve
heard that the feeling of freefall is terrifying, yet exhilarating. I guess
that’s why people enjoy the thrill of skydiving. But freefall with the weight
of water pushing you down is just plain terrifying. It happens so fast I don’t
even have time to suck in enough air before the force of the water pushes me
down below the surface. I try to rise to the top, again, and again. But the
pressure of the falls is too powerful and creates an invisible barrier that
traps me underwater. Panicking is making this dire situation worse. Just as I
am about to give up, somewhere between consciousness and sleep, something
clicks in my brain and I come to my senses. My arms paddle away from the falls,
rather than straight up.
 
I lift my
head above the water, gulping down air and wheezing boorishly like an injured
camel. I promptly become aware of my body and the fact that I’m uninjured, as
far as I know. Marcus, who is about ten feet away, isn’t so lucky. He splashes,
struggling to stay afloat, and moans in agony. A sound I have only heard on TV
news reports when they show the aftermath of bombings.

I
have no time to waste. I swim over to Marcus, but my movements seem like a slow
motion replay. I never was a great swimmer, although I always manage to keep
myself afloat. Grasping his body, I take a quick glance up at the cliff above.
The drop doesn’t look so intimidating from this angle. Perhaps, that’s because
we’re at the bottom looking up, rather than the other way around.

I
can’t rely on my sense of hearing to know where the mountain men are because
the crashing waterfall is so loud I can barely hear myself think. I look around
to find a place to hide, but I don’t think I can fool those guys twice with my
fake drowning.

I
drag Marcus out of the water and he manages to get on his feet. As I pull him
out, there is a small pool of red-tinted water left behind in the stream. Marcus
must have been shot, but there’s no time to stop and examine his injuries now.
I hoist his arm over my shoulder, dragging him forward into a grove of prickly
evergreens as he tries hobble away from the stream. I hear them now. Gunshots.
I don’t think they saw us though, because when I look back toward the stream I
see tiny splashes of water hopping up and rippling out. They must think Marcus
and I are playing dead again under water. For some reason, that provides little
relief. They’ll know we escaped again and come looking for us.

Marcus
struggles to keep up, hissing in pain with every step, but I’ve got to keep us
moving. We’re not in the clear yet.

We
probably travel about a mile beyond the stream when Marcus collapses, unable to
take another step. He hasn’t said a word since the waterfall, except for some
incomprehensible groans. He looks at me--eyes glistening with moisture, skin
pale and ashen, barely able to keep his head up--and mumbles something I just
can’t make out.

I
shake my head, “I’m sorry, Marcus. I don’t understand.” That’s when I see
it--the source of blood that was dissipating through the water. The right pant
leg of his jeans is stained red with blood.
 
It doesn’t look too bad, but then I think about how much
blood the water must have washed away.

“Go,”
he says, waving his hand.

I
could go. Save myself. Perhaps escape and bring back help. The thought flutters
into my head for a split second before it vanquishes in a tiny puff of smoke. I
won’t leave him here alone. Not after the wild adventure we’ve been through
today. A year ago I might have done that. I’ve never been the thrill-seeking
type. In fact I tend to run away from conflict and danger. I’ve never even
ridden a roller coaster because I’m such a wimp. But things are different now.
How could I leave him here to die when he’s the only reason I’m still alive?

“No,”
I say. “We’ll make camp here for the night. We’ve gone far enough.” I look
around, trying to determine the position of the sun. The forest is too dense to
tell, but the sun is no longer high in the sky. I’m sure it’s getting close to
dusk. “They won’t find us before sunset, anyway. And they won’t pursue us in
the dark.”

I
help Marcus lie back against the base of a large spruce and examine the bloody
hole in his jeans. Then it hits me like a semi, hauling ass down the I-97. That
last tug at my arm, the one that plunged us over the falls. The gunshot. He
didn’t pull me over the edge intentionally. He was shot in the leg and fell. I
guess it’s a good thing I was ready to jump anyway.

I
don’t know much about treating wounds, but the sight of blood doesn’t bother me
as it does some people. I had a best friend in middle school, Kendra, who would
faint at the sight of a nosebleed. Not me. My only fear in life, true fear, is
fire. Not just any fire. I can handle a bonfire, or flaming fireplaces. But
blazing, raging, out of control fires have plagued my nightmares since I was a
child. Being trapped in a burning building, or in an underground corridor, with
no way out. Those are the most common scenarios, but there are others. It’s
always this collaboration of pyrophobia with claustrophobia. I don’t really
know how it started. I’ve just always had this innate fear that I can’t seem to
shake away. But blood? No big deal.

“I
need to take your jeans off to see,” I say.
         

Marcus
nods and unbuttons his jeans, while I remove his shoes. Since they are still
wet, the fabric clings to his skin and the friction makes them difficult to
slide off. After much tugging, I shimmy them off and drape them over a tree
limb to dry. Thank goodness I’m so focused on his wound, otherwise I’d be
tempted to sneak a peak at his boxers and imagine what lies underneath.

From
what I can see, the wound looks much worse than it really is, and the only real
danger to Marcus is blood loss. The bullet went all the way through his leg and
out the other side, missing the bone completely. Good, because I was not
looking forward to digging into the gaping wound to find a bullet. It will need
to be stitched up, though, before he loses any more blood. That tin of first
aid supplies has definitely come in handy.

“How
does it look?” asks Marcus, nervously watching me inspect the wound.

“It’s
not that bad,” I tell him. “Of course I’m not a doctor. I don’t think it hit
the bone. I will need to sew it up. It’s going to hurt like hell so try not to
yell.”

Marcus
searches the ground around him with his hands. I’m not exactly sure what he is
looking for and then he finds it. He grasps a tree branch and breaks off a
short, fat chunk. Then he places it in his mouth, bites down, and nods at me to
continue.

I
open the tin and pull out the needle and thread. There’s only a short length of
thread so I extend it to estimate how much I’ll need. I’m sure I’ll use the
entire length, but I use my teeth to break it in half – one for the entry
wound and one for the exit wound. It takes a few tries to thread the needle,
but eventually I guide it into the eye and pull it through.

Marcus
bites down as I insert the needle into his flesh. The tip of the needle is
exceptionally dull, and the skin on Marcus’s thigh is firm and resistant, so I
have to push and wriggle it through, like trying to cut a ribeye with a butter
knife, no doubt causing more pain than necessary. Before now, he didn’t strike
me as someone who is that sensitive to pain, but I can’t even imagine what he
is feeling right now. The skin on his knuckles, already ashen, has turned a
ghostly shade of white, and the veins in his neck are protruding as his
struggles to resist the urge to lash out. When I finish tying off the thread, I
apply the antibiotic ointment and cover the wound with a bandage, which only
really covers half of it. Carefully, I help turn Marcus over to lie on his
stomach so I can tend to the entry wound.
 
He buries his face in the ground, covering the sides with his arms,
which helps to muffle the curses he shouts while I do my work. He lies limply
and sighs with relief when I announce my completion.

Marcus
is brutally exhausted and looks like he’s about to fall asleep, so I tell him
to stay put and rest while I go look for something to feed us.

Once
I’m out of sight from Marcus, I strip down to nothing but my underwear. My
clothes are damp and sticky and I feel gross. But I don’t want to take them off
in front of Marcus. We’ve only just met and I have to maintain some dignity out
here. Plus, if Glenn ever found out…well, I don’t want to think about that.

Since
the fabric is lightweight, my clothes don’t take long to dry and I’ve managed
to find some food while waiting.

It’s
almost nightfall when I return. Marcus is alert now, scraping the bark off a
tree limb with a pocketknife and tapering it to look like a primitive spear.
His shirt and socks are draped over a bush and he is down to only his boxers.
As awkward as his exposed, and extremely attractive, body makes me feel, I try
to remain nonchalant.

“How
are you feeling?” I ask, fixating on his eyes to keep my own from traveling
south.

“I’ve
seen better days,” he replies. He can’t seem to look me in the eyes. I sense
that he is still in a lot of pain and he’s trying to mask it. “Find something
to eat?”

I
release the bottom of my shirt, which I had gathered in my hand to create a
sack, and allow a pile of nuts, berries, and greens to fall before him on the
ground.

“Great.
All we need is a nutcracker,” he says facetiously. “Can you forage one of
those?”

“No,”
I respond, “but your knife should work. And I have, um, what was his name?” I
pull the knife out of my pack and study it.

“Clover,”
says Marcus.

“Right,
I have Clover’s knife,” I finish.

We
use the knives to pry open the nuts and eat in silence. I’m not sure what to
make of Marcus’s distance. I’m convinced it’s just the aching wound keeping him
distracted. But some part of me, deep in the pit of my gut, senses there’s more
to it. That he won’t look me in the eyes, it’s as if he knows something but
can’t, or won’t, let me in. It’s eating at me, but we’ve been through so much
today, and we still don’t really know each other. I can’t bring myself to
question him. I decide to let it go. I’m too tired to talk anyway.

I
give Marcus the canteen first, since I can walk to get more water anyway. He
only takes a few small sips before giving it back.

“Do
you still have that ointment?” asks Marcus.

“Yeah,
it’s right here,” I say. “Why, do you need more?”

“No.
You do.” I look down and realize I’m covered with scratches from the thorns and
shrapnel from the explosion. Some are so deep, red with inflammation, I’m
surprised I haven’t noticed the pain radiating from them before now.

“Here,
let me,” Marcus offers. I scoot up to his side, facing him and hand him the
ointment. “Don’t use too much,” I say. “You’ll probably need more in the
morning.” He nods and begins to gently dab the deep wounds on my arm, ignoring
the smaller, superficial scratches. I’m amazed at how tender his touch is. His
hands are so large and rough, as a working man’s should be. But as he glides
the ointment over my skin it sends chills up my spine, the way I felt the first
time Glenn cradled my hands in his.

Glenn,
my boyfriend
. I keep reminding myself that
he is waiting for me. Yet I can’t deny my attraction to Marcus. The way his
rusty hair falls over his eyes, those penetrating oceanic eyes, the tenderness
of his touch. And this unwavering feeling that we’ve met before. No, that we
knew each other before. My heart begins to flutter watching him stroke my arm
and I grab the ointment from Marcus before the feeling takes control of me.

“I…I’ll
finish my legs,” I stutter.

“Are
you sure?” he asks. I nod and turn away from him.
Why am I feeling this way?
I’m like a lovestruck teenager trying to hide my
emotions for fear of being caught.
It’s Glenn. That’s it. Glenn
. I don’t know when I saw him last and being here
with another man just reminds me of Glenn. I just have to get back to him. Then
everything will be okay and life will go on as it should.

I
lie down on my side at least a body’s length away from Marcus to keep my
distance while I go to sleep. I don’t feel cold, but I must have been shivering
because he moves closer to me and drapes his dried shirt over my arms. Even
though he’s not touching me, I can feel him, the energy and warmth pulsating
between us. It’s electrical. I picture his bare chest, inches from my back,
sculpted to perfection like an ancient marble statue of a perfectly chiseled
god. Goosebumps rise up over my skin. My breathing falters and for a moment I
can’t swallow, hard as I may try. I force my thoughts to turn to Glenn. The
polar opposite of Marcus. Deep, coffee brown hair, short and cropped. Clean
shaven face with thick, manicured eyebrows. Well dressed and short tempered.
Outspoken and egotistical, yet clever with words.