W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone Mystery)

enemy dead.
    My attention snapped to Pearl, who had kicked over an oil drum that now lay on its side, heavily dented where she’d stomped it dead center. This was a makeshift incinerator emptied of half-burned logs. Firewood from a nearby stack had been supplemented with books, which must have made good tinder. The blackened spines of once whole texts had tumbled out of the drum like bones, doilies of charred paper spilling over the hard-packed dirt.
    “What are you doing ?” I asked in a hoarse whisper. I’d meant to warn them, but I was so taken aback, I couldn’t gather my wits about me. The big guy was probably already making short work of the hill.
    When there was no response, I hissed, the sound harsh and unexpected. Pearl scarcely seemed aware of me, but Felix lifted his head abruptly. As it turned out, even the hiss was pointless because the bum in the red flannel shirt chose that moment to stride into the camp. He knew instantly what was going on and his rage was a sound that started low in his throat as he crossed the littered ground. He grabbed Pearl’s jacket and shoved her. Off balance, she fell backward with a thud. Any other woman would have had the air knocked out of her, but Pearl was made of sturdier stuff. She tried to sit upright so she could get to her feet, but the bum kicked her squarely in the side and then landed on her chest with both knees.
    Felix bent and picked up a piece of firewood, which had been hewn from a young tree with a diameter about the size of a dinner plate. The log had been split into four sections, the raw wood visible in a wedge as sharp as a fixed-blade machete. He moved toward the bum with a measured pace, his face blank. Gone was any suggestion that he was mentally slow. I saw now that his thinking was straightforward. Subtlety wasn’t high on his list and he lacked the facility for reflection. He was practical. He saw what needed to be done and he did it. In this case, the bum attacking Pearl needed to be hit with a hunk of wood, which Felix managed with dispatch. The bum toppled over in exactly the manner you’d expect for a man who’d just been hit with a hunk of wood.
    I didn’t wait to see what happened next. I made a quick run to the tree, where I snatched the backpack from its resting place. I was surprised to find it nearly weightless, offering little or no resistance. I’d imagined having to drag it along behind me, but while it was unwieldy, it was easy to carry. I grabbed the nearby canvas duffel and dragged it into the dense shrubs, pulling it in one hand while I held the backpack in front of me like a shield. Advancement was almost impossible. I plunged through the path of crushed and snapped undergrowth created by our approach. I broke out of the woods and began to struggle up the hill toward the fence. I was breathing hard and sweating, and my shoulders burned. I like to think I’m in good shape, but clearly that was not the case. Behind me, I hoped Felix and Pearl knew how to protect themselves. The last I’d seen of them, they were doing okay. Rescuing the backpack had been the goal, and if we failed at that, then the venture was all risk with no payoff. Once I’d tossed the backpack and the duffel in the trunk of my car, I’d go back and offer what I could in the way of help.
    When I reached the fence, I dumped the duffel temporarily and shoved the backpack through the hole, irritated when the frame got caught in the chain link. I jerked to free it and shoved again, all the while talking to myself, murmuring, “Come on, come on.” This time the canvas got snagged on a sharp hook of raw wire. I tried again, pushing the flap of fence with the pack itself until the gap was wide enough for the frame to pass through. I dragged the duffel bag to the hole, sat down, and kicked it through to the other side.
    Behind me I heard a rustling on the hill, dead leaves and twigs responding in a series of pops and whispers. I’d hoped to slide through the fence myself so I could throw both items in the trunk, but there was no time for that. I turned as Pearl staggered into view, her face a livid pink with exertion. Behind her Felix charged out of the woods and loped up the hill. Neither had managed to snag the second duffel from the camp. Felix lost his footing every third or fourth step, which made progress agonizingly slow. Pearl seemed to run without forward motion. Felix was clearly moving faster, but the distance between them appeared the same