A Cloak of Lies
By Molly Wens
Chapter 7
Camille threw an arm across her eyes to block out the beam of the overhead lamp that penetrated her sleep. She moaned, pulling away from the hand that grasped her shoulder.
"
Agapi
," an achingly familiar voice said. "Time to get up."
Her heart jumped in her chest. Was that Niko's voice? Her Niko? How could that be?
Then a torrent of memories flooded her sleep-fogged brain, reminding her of the events of the last few days. Niko was alive, and he'd stolen her away from her home and her carefully reconstructed life.
Fresh anger, and an equally deep sadness, drew a pained growl from her throat. Shoving his hand away, she sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her muscles groaned in protest, aching from her new life on the run. Glancing around, she realized that she was still in the stolen motor home with the first gray streaks of predawn light illuminating the horizon outside the window.
Olan was asleep, or unconscious, on the bed next to her. She didn't remember crawling into the sack with him, but judging by the look on Niko's face, it probably wasn't the wisest thing she'd ever done. He looked positively enraged.
"What's the matter, Honey?" she asked with a voice dripping poison. "Seeing your wife in bed with another man too upsetting for you? Deal with it."
"You two at it again?"
Both turned to see Olan's pale face, an amused grin hiding his obvious pain. Camille was instantly contrite for having disturbed his rest. Carefully pulling herself off the bed, she bent over his body to check his bandages.
"Your fever's down a bit," she said while laying a hand on his forehead. "Think you could drink some water?"
Olan nodded slightly, grimacing at the pain that the movement caused. Niko picked up the bottle from the side table to hand to her. Camille snatched it from him without glancing at his face, holding it to Olan's lips. He drank eagerly, sputtering softly when he tried to swallow too fast.
"We gotta get you inside, Buddy," Niko said, pulling the blanket from his friend. "There's a soft bed in there with your name on it."
The new hideout was perfect. Nestled in the densely forested land deep in the Ozark Mountains, it allowed them creature comforts as well as seclusion. The large home was made almost entirely of logs and stood two stories high.
The three bedrooms were situated upstairs, each with its own exit to the balcony that spanned the top floor. Camille had insisted on putting Olan in the middle room, effectively putting a buffer between her bedroom and the one that Niko would occupy.
She had to smile to herself when he growled about it, but she refrained from comment until he announced that he was going to dispose of the motor home, and would likely be gone all day.
"You can't go out there. It'll be light soon."
"It has to be done, Camille. I need to take it as far away as possible and find us some alternate wheels. We also need supplies."
"You can get supplies in Cabool. There're a couple of grocery stores there, you know."
Shaking his head, Niko tried to cool his irritation before speaking again.
"I can't take that chance. We have to stay as quiet as possible and make sure that nobody sees us. It's better I do it this way. I can get what we need in Springfield or some other town."
She frowned at him, casting a glance up the stairway toward the bedrooms.
"At least get a couple hours' rest before you go. You look like hell."
"I'm touched by your concern," he growled, running a hand through his hair. "Just take care of Olan till I get back."
Then he was gone without a backward glance, leaving her alone with an injured man and her growing paranoia. If only Allinson had kept a phone hooked up at the cabin, things would be easier. Camille desperately wanted to speak to Doug, if only to let him know that she was still alive and to hear the reassurance of his voice.
She would have to find a telephone somewhere. The suspicion that Niko had so carefully nurtured in her began to take hold. She could easily sneak out while he was gone, and hike the few miles to town. There she would find a phone and could make the call, but what if she were seen? Besides, there was no way she could leave Olan alone. What if something happened and he needed help?
Camille was reduced to pacing the floor, trapped in her own indecision. Her nerves were frazzled, her mind on edge. The dull throb that had started at the base of her skull the moment she woke in the motor home had developed into a full-blown headache. On top of that was the burning sensation in her stomach that made her want to vomit.
She realized that it had been days since she had eaten a real meal. It had also been too long since Olan had eaten. An hour later, after spooning thin broth into his mouth, she sat staring at her own bowl of canned chowder. She just couldn't bring herself to eat the bland soup, no matter how hard she tried.
Alternating between walking the main floor of the cabin and climbing the stairs to check on Olan, she found herself exhausted. A beautiful day had dawned, but wariness kept her inside. Now, as darkness approached, every sound in and around the cabin had her jumping in fright.
How long would it be before Niko found his way back? What was keeping him? The questions grew louder in her brain until she wanted to scream.
She had no idea when it was that she had dozed off, or what it was that woke her, but she found herself sitting bolt upright on the sofa with a long, slow chill running the length of her spine. She sat for a moment, scarcely daring to breathe in the darkened cabin, listening. Camille was just about to berate herself for being afraid of the boogeyman, when she heard a car door slam.
Clamping her teeth down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming, she scampered to the kitchen in search of the gun Niko had insisted she keep. Just as her fingers closed around the grip, she heard the front door open.
It had to be Niko. Who else could it be? But why didn't he call out to her or turn on the lights? She pressed herself against the wall just inside the kitchen door. The blood drumming in her ears was so loud she could barely hear the person's footsteps as he slowly crossed the parlor floor.
She heard the creak of the swinging kitchen door as it started to open. As if in slow motion, the door was pushed inch by inch until Camille could see the toe of a shoe silhouetted at the bottom.
With all her strength, she threw her body against the door. There was a loud thud and the pained yelp of a man whose face had just collided with solid wood, followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor.
Grabbing the edge of the still-swinging door, Camille threw it open, planting her feet wide to hold it there, pointing the gun at the face of the intruder.
"
Thee mou
, woman," Niko hissed. "Are you trying to kill me?"
Her stomach did a flip. She gulped at the air around her to keep herself from puking all over him. It was sheer force of will that moved her thumb slowly off the hammer and eased her finger from the trigger.
Niko reached up, took the gun gently from her cold fingers and worked his way out from between her legs and off the floor. Laying the gun on a side table, he reached out to touch her.
Camille jerked away from his hand, jumping back to let the door swing shut again. She walked to the table, her legs barely able to support her as she pulled out a chair and sat down.
Burying her head in her hands, she realized that she would have shot the man. She would have looked him in the eye and killed him as if his life didn't matter. His being Niko only made that reality worse. What was she turning into?
The ceiling lamp flashed on. The glare would have been blinding had she not had her face covered with her hands. She could hear Niko moving about behind her, turning on the water, opening cabinets.
"You okay?" he asked from somewhere to her left.
When she didn't answer him, he moved closer. His hand touched her shoulder while he gently pried her fingers from her face.
"Camille? It's all right. You're safe now."
