When Pink came to the surface, frigid air cut across his shoulders and face. He searched the inky blackness for Claire, calling her name, splashing his arms back and forth to stay afloat. It had been years since he’d been swimming. He kicked his feet to keep his chin above the surface, buoyancy losing out to gravity.
A moment later Claire popped up, coughing and choking. Pink saw the terrified whites of her eyes, scanning the dark like searchlights. When her gaze finally locked onto him, she started thrashing toward him, windmilling her arms in a futile attempt to swim. He told her to go the other way, toward the bank. She spun to look in the direction he pointed, then turned back and lunged for his head.
“Jesus Christ, Cla—!” With her hands wrapped over his ears, Claire’s weight pushed him under. Water rushed up his nose. Pink kicked, trying to free himself from her grip. When he sank too deep for her to hold on any longer without going under herself, he felt her feet on his shoulders. She danced frantically, plunging him deeper. He swatted at her ankles, twisting away, swimming for the surface.
He came up choking, hardly catching a breath before she was on him again. He pushed her away, then kicked at her, catching her in the stomach. She went under.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Pink paddled over to where she went down. He was about to call Claire’s name again when he felt her grab his legs underwater, then his BVDs; she was climbing him like a ladder, dragging him down. When her head popped up, he tried to spin her, catch her from behind under the arms so he could subdue her, talk some sense into her. She flailed, kicking and chopping her arms on the water, clocking him under the chin with her head.
“Goddamn it, Claire, stop fighting!”
She was choking again, coughing and spitting, then screaming and struggling. The cold was beginning to penetrate, the water no longer warm to his flesh. He slapped her across the face then wrenched her shoulders around until she faced away. Claire continued flailing. He hauled her backward, frog-kicking his legs beneath the water, using his free arm to haul them forward. In a matter of seconds his calves were like lead, drawing them both down, the cold stiffening his thigh muscles. Claire beat the water with her open palms, gurgling and babbling. Pink thought about releasing her, shoving her away, suddenly unsure if he could make it to shore alone, much less towing her. Maybe if he left her, he could rest a second, gather his strength, go back and save her. The bank looked to be only forty feet away. Even so, he knew she would drown before he had a chance to swim back for her.
He kicked his legs again, hoping for an adrenaline surge, the kind of crazed, instantaneous strength that allows a man to lift an automobile off a trapped child. Just then, Claire’s struggled ended. She went limp in his arms. He knew she wasn’t dead—she had screamed too much to have any water in her lungs. The absence of her fight buoyed him.
In minutes he was sliding her up the mud bank, her body pale and lifeless against the dark weeds. He couldn’t stop shivering.
“Wake up, Claire.” He slapped her lightly on the cheek at first, then harder when she didn’t respond. “Come on, Claire.”
Pink grabbed her wrists and tried dragging her up the hill, moving her only a few inches before exhaustion set in. Out of breath and perspiring, he felt the cold overtaking him, sweat freezing in his hair.
Claire’s breasts bobbed in her wet bra as he seized her wrists and leaned back to get her moving again. Catching on branches and undergrowth, her panties began to roll down her hips until Pink could see the top edge of her pubic hair. Her backside must have come against something sharp because her eyes shot open and she yelped. She yanked her arms away from him and knotted them across her chest, shivering, then shaking. “I’m freezing to death, Pink.”
He touched her hair. It was cold and brittle. “Come on,” he said, reaching out his hand to her. “Let’s get to the road.”
“Then what?” she said, staring up at him, her body wound into a tight ball. “Freeze to death up there? Let’s make a fire. Can’t you make a fire or something?”
“With what, Claire?” Pink tugged at his underwear. “You think I’m hiding matches in here? I ain’t no damn Boy Scout. Now get up off your ass.”
He climbed the hill without her, thinking about Kenny, about how he would kill him. Pink heard Claire rustle to her feet and scrabble up behind him, grabbing his ankle. “Wait for me.”
Pink had no idea what they would do when they reached the road. There would be no one to drive by and give them a ride, not out here. Snow came down heavier now, making it difficult to see more than a few feet.
Within several yards of cresting the hill, Pink thought he spotted a light up on the bridge. “Come on, Claire. There’s a car stopped up here.”
He clawed at the steep bank, scraping his bare knees on rocks and sticks. Limbs swept past his crotch, poking him. With every jab to his testicles, Pink planned his revenge. “That bastard.”
“What’d you say, Pink?” Claire tried to keep up, grabbing at his legs.
“Nothing.” Pink glanced up at the bridge again, the presence of a car obvious now, the amber flashing lights.
“Hurry up, Claire, before they leave.” Pink fought through a bramble at the edge of the scrub, the stickers ripping at his arms and legs, picking at the fabric of his shorts. He broke free and jogged toward the red glow of the taillights, then stopped dead. Claire ran up next to him, hugging her arms across her chest.
“Come on, Pink. What are you stopping for?”
He grabbed her wrist as she started toward the vehicle, exhaust pouring from the tailpipe.
“That’s my Suburban, Claire.”
Shifting her gaze between the vehicle and Pink, she tried to twist free from his grasp. “So what? I’m freezing my ass off. Come on.”
“Kenny could be waiting for us,” Pink said quietly. “Do you see him anywhere? If he didn’t take the car, where is he?”
Claire stopped struggling, and Pink let her hand fall. He told her to wait, and then approached the vehicle, the gravel pricking his bare feet. Snow dusting the windows made it impossible to see if someone was inside. He looked past the passenger side of the car, at the ground where he and Claire had disrobed, hoping to see their clothes. Nothing. Stealing up on the back bumper, Pink felt his heart clunking in his chest. How cruel a bastard could Kenny be, Pink thought, making them strip on the side of the highway, jump into freezing water, then struggle up the fucking hill only to be shot next to his own Suburban while Kenny laughed, his big, fat teeth shining in the dash lights?
Pink peeked in the back window, then the front, then he hurried past the hood. “Come on, Claire. He’s not here.”
Pink jerked the door open and threw himself into the warmth of the interior, the heater turned to high. Claire shot in the other side and slammed the door.