Copper Finish
Russell Barnett’s loafers took root as the coiled rope unwound into a snake. His death grip on Amber’s elbow tightened. When the brown band slithered off, he released a shaky breath.
“Dad, you’re bruising my arm.”
“Sorry.” Russell’s voice wobbled. He pried his plump fingers from her sleeve, extracted a monogrammed handkerchief from his jacket, and wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead. “What was that? An asp?”
“Wrong continent, Dad.” Amber’s voice was tight. “A copperhead. You were probably thinking of the aspen trees.”
“Of course.” He stooped to retrieve the penny that glinted on a mossy bed. “Here. You keep it.” Feigning nonchalance, he flipped the token to his daughter. “My lucky coin seems to have lost its magic. If I had picked it up right after it slipped out of my pocket . . .”
Amber cut him off. “I’d be practicing my wilderness first aid skills.”
He cleared his throat. “Let’s focus on finding your mother. The ransom note said she would be at a campsite five miles up the trail. How far have we come?”
“Not far enough.” Amber studied the angle of the sun. “We have only two hours of light. The temperature will drop to the 40’s tonight. Was Mom wearing a jacket when she left the house?”
“I didn’t notice.” Russell increased his pace, pausing to clamber over a log. A gray squirrel barked a rebuke at the huffing intruder.
His daughter’s hand restrained him. “This is not a sprint. I’m a river guide. I know this terrain. You don’t.”
He glared. “The faster we go, the sooner we find your mother.”
“If we contact the park police, they can organize armed search-and-rescue teams.”
Russell recoiled. “And risk having her killed at the first sign of a uniform?”
“You’re dealing with a criminal.” Amber punctuated each word with exasperation. “How can you trust him?”
“I kept my part of the deal and delivered the money. He’ll keep his.” Her father’s voice was ice.
“You’re an accountant. You live your life by rules. Not everybody does.” The river guide slapped a calloused palm against the warty white bark of the nearest tree. A vine two inches thick had girdled the trunk. “Look. This aspen will die by strangulation before spring. The wilderness is a wild card. And so is a thug.”
“Maybe if you lived your life by the rules, we’d all be home safe instead of trekking through your precious aspens. You’re 26 years old, for heaven’s sake. You should have settled down and given up this lark you call a career. Responsible adults don’t spend all day splashing around in kayaks. Hasn’t it occurred to you that the kidnapping was payback for your campaign to ban copper mining?”
The words struck Amber with the force of a fist. White-faced, she took a step back. “Are you saying you blame me for Mom’s abduction?” she stuttered.
Russell’s voice severed the still air. “Yes. This wasn’t a random crime.”
Eyes filling, Amber swallowed hard and forced a neutral tone. “If that’s true, we have no choice but to call for help.”
“Absolutely not. I forbid it.” Her father vibrated with fury. “Your political escapades have endangered your mother. You will help me find her. That’s an order. We don’t need your meddling ranger friends. They would bungle everything.”
“An order?” Amber’s laugh was hollow. “You’re not in a position to bargain with the kidnapper or with me. We passed a hill about forty minutes ago. Maybe I can get cell phone coverage there. I’m going to do what’s best for Mom.” She picked up the burden of his disapproval and tossed a whispered farewell over her shoulder. “Be careful, Dad.” A dagger of silence stabbed her back.
Resentment that had festered for two decades pounded through Amber’s veins as she retraced her steps and started the ascent. She checked her phone periodically without success. At the summit, one wobbly bar appeared. Before her trembling index finger pressed a single digit, the screen went black.
“No! How can the battery be dead?” she howled. Pacing back and forth, she turned the device on and off to no effect. After checking for snakes, Amber collapsed on a large boulder, head in hands. A moment later the back of her neck tingled, and her nose twitched.
She jerked upright at the warning call of a blue jay. Straightening, the naturalist scanned the vista of bright green. Her heart lurched. A plume of smoke was rising less than five miles away. “Oh, God. A wildfire! And the wind is shifting this direction.” Her eyes narrowed. “No. That looks like a campfire by the river.”
Pulse racing, she scrutinized the trail that descended the slope and disappeared behind a curtain of leaves. The shrill song of cicadas cautioned her that night would fall in less than an hour. Was there a faster route? Something crashed through the brush, interrupting the murmur of the aspens. A white-tailed deer bounded downhill, following a path that was almost invisible. Amber exhaled relief and resolve. “You’re taking a shortcut to the water, and I’m going to track you.” She followed her animal guide for half an hour, pausing at intervals to listen.
A voice as hard and cool as marble arrested her movement. “I wonder how much your daughter will pay to get you back.” The stranger guffawed. “Or pieces of you.”
Amber shuddered and peered through the foliage. Her parents, gagged and bound, sat hunched on the ground. They were tied back to back, with her father facing her, chin tucked. Was he injured? Their captor was circling a campfire that had burned down to embers. When he stirred the coals, the steel of his revolver flashed.
A woodpecker drummed Russell out of his daze. His head jerked up. One minute later perspiration shimmered on his forehead. He blanched. A copperhead was gliding toward his ankle.
Amber held her breath, willing him not to move. Three feet of deadly ribbon unspooled and spilled across his loafer. Russell clenched his teeth. When the viper’s tail slithered over his toes, Amber exhaled and wiped sweaty palms on her jeans.
The snake darted toward a stack of kindling two yards in front of her. A moment later he disappeared under the top branches.
Hidden by the brambles, Amber advanced another five feet. When the abductor turned his back, she flicked her father’s shiny penny onto the wood pile and faded out of sight. A twig shifted, and the felon glanced her way. The token caught and held the fire’s glow. Her adversary strode forward. “What’s this?” His hand closed around the coin just before fiery fangs sank into his wrist.
Author’s Biography
Elizabeth Spencer Spragins has written for more than 100 journals and anthologies in 12 countries. She is the author of three original poetry collections: “Waltzing with Water” and “With No Bridle for the Breeze” (Shanti Arts Publishing) and “The Language of Bones” (Kelsay Books). elizabethspencerspragins.wordpress.com.
