No Sanctuary by Richard Laymon Page A

then crouched and pulled off Rick’s sneakers. Following his instructions, Julie pressed the soles of the shoes flat against both sides of Rick’s shin. A little more of her nipple was showing. Rick forced himself not to look at it. He watched Dad instead. Soon, the shoes were strapped tightly into place with two belts.
    “That ought to hold it,” Dad said.
    They helped Rick up. Julie suggested they support him under each arm and walk him back to camp, but Dad said that it would be easier, and less risky, if he carried Rick piggyback.
    “You might hurt yourself,” Julie said.
    “You kidding? The man of iron?”
    Dad didn’t feel like a man of iron as he carried Rick over the rough terrain. He felt like oak, thick and solid and resilient. He wasn’t even breathing heavily by the time they reached their campsite.
    Instead of putting Rick down, he waded into the lake.
    “What’re you doing?”
    “I want you to soak that leg for a while. The cold’ll keep the swelling down.”
    “Do I have to?”
    Dad crouched. The icy water soaked through the seat of Rick’s cotton underpants, shocking his anus and biting into his genitals. Then the water numbed his legs. Julie, behind him, clutched him under the armpits.
    “Okay, I’ve got you,” she said.
    Releasing his father, he eased backward against Julie. She lowered him deeper. Dad let go of his legs, then moved around to where Julie was. Together, they guided him closer to the shore. They found a flat rock for him to sit on.
    Both legs were still submerged below the knees, but the agony was gone. Rick felt as if his balls had been released from a vice. He took a deep breath.
    Dad and Julie both stood in front of him, thigh deep in the lake. Didn’t the water hurt them?
    Julie had Rick’s jeans with the crotch at the nape of her neck and the legs draping her front.
    “You should probably soak that leg a few times a day,” Dad said. He looked at Julie. “You make sure he does.”
    “You’re going for help?” she asked.
    “Don’t see any way out of it.”
    “You’re going to leave us alone?” Rick was stunned.
    “There’s no reason to worry. You’ve got plenty of food. Shouldn’t take me more than about two days to reach the ranger station. They’ll probably bring in a chopper.”
    “God almighty,” Rick muttered.
    “It won’t be so bad,” Julie said, and showed him a smile.
    “Let him have some bourbon,” Dad told her. “That’ll help if the pain gets too bad. I’d better get a move on.”
    Rick and Julie both tried to talk him into staying the night, but he argued that there were still several hours of daylight and he’d better get to the ranger station as fast as possible.
    They left Rick.
    Turning sideways on his tiny island of rock, he watched his father pack a few things in his rucksack, kiss Julie goodbye, wave, and start striding briskly up the trail toward Windover Pass.
    That night, the wind woke Rick. It howled and shrieked through the canyon. It shook the tent in spite of the protective stone walls on either side. He was glad that Julie had moved his sleeping bag into her tent, but she seemed to be sleeping through the uproar. His leg throbbed. He began to weep. The pain was bad, but the fierce noises were worse. He felt as if their presence had somehow offended a monstrous thing that dwelt in the canyon; it hated intruders in its domain and wanted to crush them. Finally, unable to bear the terror, Rick shook Julie awake.
    “Huh? What ... Jesus, what’s going on out there?”
    “Just the wind,” Rick said, trying to keep his voice steady so she wouldn’t know he was crying.
    “Sounds like the end of the world.”
    “My leg hurts awfully bad,” he said.
    “Maybe we should break out the booze. Do you think that’d be a good idea?”
    “I guess so.”
    “I could use some myself. What’s going on out there?”
    Rick rubbed his eyes. He saw Julie sit up in the darkness. A moment later, light stung his eyes. She had turned on