The Evil Within the Woods

by Kevin J. Fitzgerald

  Just three bold, black letters: very similar to how United Nations’ vehicles are marked with a black ‘UN’ on the side. The three letters on the side of this truck, however, were S.I.N.

  What did they mean?

  Paladin felt himself sinking towards blackness and despair. The last thing he remembered happening was turning to see the Son running up the driveway toward him. The long belt of his bathrobe trailed in the night behind him, his arms were outstretched. The Son was weeping bitterly. “Paladin!!!”

  From somewhere, came the forlorn caw of a huge bird.

  Paladin felt himself picked up violently. Huge metal doors opened and he was cast into the back of the ominous white truck.

  “No!!!” the Son screamed.

  Doors slammed behind Paladin like the lid of a great, steel sarcophagus.

  After that, the world went completely black, and Paladin knew no more.

  CHAPTER 19

  “Trapped!”

  Fog covered the road in a blanket of haze. Strange objects, like bizarre circus characters, emerged from the gloom one-by-one as headlights danced upon the condensed surface. Frank Sanders leaned forward, straining with all his might to see the lines painted upon the road. The roads were empty this time of night, but he was still nervous; partially because he was so tired. He had made these midnight runs for over a month now and they were beginning to take their toll. Of course, he didn’t complain. No, sir.

  Nobody complains to the Boss Man, he thought.

  “Where’s all this fog coming from?” he asked. He didn’t expect an answer. Nevertheless, his co-worker spoke up.

  “Lake nearby,” Lenny said, smacking his grape bubblegum annoyingly. He blew and popped an enormous bubble and peeled it from his baby-like skin. He never looked up from the “Mutant-Boy” comic book he read. He yawned ferociously, as if speaking had set something off in his brain. “We’ll be crossing her shortly,” he struggled through the end of his yawn with watering eyes.

  Frank Sanders had to suppress the urge to smack Lenny.

  They drove in silence through the foggy night, neither of them speaking for a while. Before long, Frank felt his eyelids getting heavy. “That’s it!” he blurted out. “I gotta get some coffee!” Lenny sat up at this suggestion and looked at his partner nervously. His eyes widened to the size of hardboiled eggs in the glow of the semi’s dash. “Frank, come on,” he chuckled, as if doing so would dismiss the idea. “W-w-we don’t have that much further to go,” he stammered.

  Frank glared at him. “It don’t matter how much further we have to go, Leonard! I can’t drive if I can’t keep my eyes open!”

  Lenny wiped his forehead and shot a glance out the window. He shook his head and muttered, “He’s not gonna like it, you know? He’s not gonna like it.”

  “Well, he don’t have to know about it, does he?” Frank’s words were hurried and defensive. “Besides,” he muttered, cooling a bit. “We’re well ahead of schedule. We’ll make it there in plenty of time.” Frank spoke like a man trying to convince himself of something. Lenny didn’t look at him. “Come on,” Frank sighed finally. “Just a quick bite to eat and a couple a’ cups a coffee. I’ll be good to go.” As if to confirm his desire, there appeared out of the gloom ahead a large, yellow glowing ‘W’.

  Waffle House. Frank smiled. It was one of his favorites.

  He pulled the rig into the parking lot.

  Beside him, Lenny developed a distinct sour feeling in his gut. He didn’t know if it was the thought of stomaching one more meal at another of these all-night diners his partner loved to frequent, or whether it was the thought of possibly disappointing their boss, Lou Lyons—and facing his subsequent wrath. Still unsure, Lenny undid his seatbelt as Frank got out of the cab and slammed the door.

  “And don’t call me Leonard,” Lenny called after Frank, still annoyed.

  §

  Night sounds drifted through the small grated window high in the wall at the end of the room: sounds of traffic, water, the city.

  Sounds of freedom.

  The room was shaped like a corridor, yet something about it was different. The dead giveaway was the fact that it moved. This was the back of an elahs vehicle: a semi-truck, a S.I.N. transport, piloted by one of Lyons’ D-Men.

  Paladin had been moved while still unconscious from the back of the smaller S.I.N. vehicle to this larger, better-equipped S.I.N. transport. He had no memory of this, however. He had been out for hours. He woke again now and looked about the room dazedly, wondering where he was. Something had . . . stopped: a noise, a sensation that had almost a hypnotic effect on his sleep had been cut off. There were only the sounds of the still night now, cradled in those hours just before dawn. Paladin lay still a moment, wondering if he had died. The world was upside down. With tremendous effort, he rolled onto his stomach and grunted. Pain coursed through his entire body. He squinted and looked around.

  The truck was dark, save for the crimson glow of a small EXIT light over the door in the far end of the room. Pale moonlight streamed through the grated window on a silvery blanket. “Dupan,” Paladin muttered to himself. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he also became aware of other sounds in the room: snores, dripping water, whispers, an occasional snicker from far below. Somewhere, a single voice sobbed violently.

  Where am I? Paladin wondered.

  He rose to his feet. His legs quivered beneath him. Paladin had been drugged and asleep for hours; prior to that, his body had withstood his most intense physical stress ever. He ached all over—inside and out. He crept to the front of his cage for a better look. If he were not so exhausted, he would have been more frightened (in reality, he was terrified. However, it was a calm, resolved sort of terror, like knowing you are about to enter a storm which you may not survive; like seeing a tornado touchdown nearby and watching it cut its path right toward you). He tried to assess his situation.

  The room was lined with other cages like his own. Pale light glinted off the steel of the cages like artificial starlight. Paladin’s enclosure was on the bottom-most level. It seemed the cages climbed up and up for five levels or more; the topmost level disappeared into complete shadow. From the cages, Paladin saw eyes staring out. Some stared at the window in the far wall; a few stared at him. Most of them just stared—cold, expressionless masks of death. How many of them? Paladin wondered. He surveyed the situation, and then slinked to the rear of his cage and collapsed. His head hung and he did the only thing he knew to do: he wept—softly, so no one would hear.

  Eventually he dozed.

  What made him look up again was one of the strangest sounds he had ever heard—a sound that cut through all the others: a sad, forlorn sound, a broken, musical sound… a sound that conjured up a whole range of emotions. It was a sound that made you want to laugh and cry all at once, a sound that humbled you, but stirred up sleeping pride within. A sound that provided escape, but at the same time punctuated the reality of this prison. Paladin looked through the steel mesh of the cage walls and saw other animals listening to it as well. The night itself was robbed now – devoid of other sounds – as only the strange musical sound seemed to play on. He hopped to the front of his cage and whispered: “What is that?”

  “That’s Geronimo,” a voice spoke out of the darkness. “He plays that harmonica almost every night.”

  Paladin turned to see one of the ugliest faces he had ever seen. It was a dog—of that he was sure. But it looked like something had been smashed into its face.

  “Whadda ya in for, kid?” the dog lapped.

  Paladin jumped. He was alarmed at how quietly the dog had apparently crept up beside him (especially considering its extremely bowed legs). The dog’s face was just inches from his own. Paladin meant to answer the dog, but then found he couldn’t remember if he already had or not (or if he merely imagined the dog speaking to begin with! The drugs were still wearing off, you see. It was a confused few moments).

  “Aaahh, forget it,” the dog replied. “I’ve jus
t always wanted to say that. Now seemed as good a time as any.” The dog shrugged its shoulder and lay down laboriously, joining the others in listening to the strange, flowing musical sound of the harmonica. Thick drool hung in lines from the corners of its mouth like wet noodles.

  Paladin crept toward the mesh wall that separated him from the fat, smush-faced dog, and sniffed nervously. “Sir?” he asked politely. “W-w-where are we?”

  The bulldog looked at Paladin and sighed heavily. Snot shot from its nose and missed Paladin’s cheek by millimeters. In the dark, the rabbit didn’t even see this. A good thing, too; he would have been disgusted. “Trapped is where we are, kid,” the bulldog replied. “Trapped.”

  Paladin hung his head. It was a word he had heard so many times, a word that struck fear into the heart of any animal.

  “Bull is my name,” the bulldog said quickly. “What’s yours?”

  “Uh . . . Paladin,” the rabbit answered.

  “You’re a rabbit, ain’tcha?” The bulldog eyed Paladin greedily. Paladin wondered what their relationship would have been like if this cage wall were not separating them. Would they have had so civil a conversation? Paladin didn’t want to think about that.

  “Yes,” Paladin answered, and tried to smile. “What are you?”

  “I’m a bulldog.” Bull raised his chin, as if this revelation should mean something to Paladin. For the first time, Paladin noticed that the bulldog had a thick southern drawl. It was a form of speech Paladin was unfamiliar with. Bull leaned forward and peered at Paladin curiously. “Ain’t you ever heard of a bulldog before, rabbit?”

  Ignoring the question, Paladin blurted out, “Where are they taking us, Bull?” It didn’t dawn on him that the large dog had not used his proper name. Bull sighed and rested back on his haunches. He scratched at a flea behind his ear and groaned. Drool fell from his mouth and puddled between his front paws. It reminded Paladin of Bear.

  What had become of her? he wondered.

  “Don’t rightly know,” Bull finally answered. But something in the bulldog’s voice seemed to indicate otherwise. Paladin narrowed his eyes, trying to hear what was behind the bulldog’s words. Bull looked old and tired in the moonlight. “I’m sure if you were to go around and ask each of these prisoners, rabbit, you’d probably get just as many different answers,” Bull continued. He stared around at the long, narrow stretch of cages, and Paladin followed his gaze. “That’s ‘cause none of us know where we’re going, really. Just tales,” he whispered. “Yarns. Legends. Only what a mama might have spoken late at night to keep a young ‘un from wandering.” Bull looked at Paladin and added for emphasis, “And that would have been only what she could remember from what her mama told her!”

  Bull shook his head. His breathing was labored, as if the words were dragged out of him. “Miserable wretches,” he muttered. Paladin did not know if the statement was meant about the animals trapped in the truck . . . or the elahs who had trapped them. “All of us!” Bull exclaimed, as if knowing Paladin’s thoughts. “Nobody knows where we’re going, rabbit! And nobody cares! We’re the forgotten ones! That’s all any of us know!” Bull nodded. “That’s right, rabbit. I called ‘em ‘prisoners.’ ‘Cause that’s what we are now.” He leaned closer to Paladin and stared at him with wild eyes; his breath was warm and noisome in the darkness. “Make no mistake,” Bull whispered, “I mean all of us, rabbit! You! Me! Them!” Bull sniffed the air, as if it contained some secret; some dark hidden thing that would confirm or deny his speech. “I’ve heard some say the elahs are taking us to a place we’ll never come home from again.” A clap of thunder shook the night, as if some cosmic force collaborated with the dog’s tale. Cries and shrieks erupted throughout the truck, and Bull finished: “But I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out, won’t we, rabbit?” Bull licked his lips. Paladin shuddered as the dog’s yellow eyes withdrew into the darkness.

  Calm once again befell the truck and Geronimo’s harmonica filled the cabin. Paladin stared out his cage and listened. The music lulled him to a place beyond the truck—back to Tanglewood; to life before the black strips when he and his ma and da lived carefree. Paladin smelled fresh clover in his nostrils and heard the birds overhead. Dew-dappled grass was cold and wet upon his paws. So real and thick and vivid was the memory that Paladin expected to open his eyes and see Tanglewood conjured from within the surrounding darkness. But all he found was the cold reality of the truck. The long room was lighter now. In the cage beside him, Bull snored.

  How much time had passed? Had he dozed?

  Paladin saw more details of the room now. His head was somewhat clearer. The drugs were wearing off and he could feel his wits returning. The long, tall room was definitely lined with cages on both sides, with a narrow walkway stretching down the middle. Most of the cages were occupied. Only a few along the topmost level were empty. Either that or the occupants were completely inert. Paladin observed that the cage he was in was not much different from the one he had been kept in after first being found by the Son. The primary difference was that this door-latch hooked somewhat differently. Overall, the fundamental principle was the same. And so – after a little bit of trying – Paladin found he could undo the latch.

  The door to his cage swung open and Paladin hopped out.

  The floor of the cabin was cold and wet, unpleasant against his paws.

  But Paladin found he could move about the cabin with ease.

  CHAPTER 20

  “What Paladin Found”

  As you can imagine, in a room full of caged, angry, scared, hungry, sleep-deprived (and some half-crazed) animals, seeing Paladin freely moving about the cabin was not met with warm reception by everyone. Hoots and hollers, squeals and squibbers, barking, snarling, yapping, and yelping filled the truck.

  “Look!” a scraggly-looking mutt on the third level cried. “The rabbit’s out!”

  “Yes!” another chimed.

  One by one, the animals peered at Paladin from their cages. Paladin looked up at them all. Some of the faces were afraid and lonely and confused. Very few of them looked friendly. Paladin found himself grateful they were locked behind cage doors. He backed up until his haunches pressed against the cold wiring of one of the cages.

  “And how is it that you know how to do that?” a voice asked from behind. Paladin turned to see a large tabby cat peering at him from the shadows. It was hard to make out her expression in the dimness. Her fur had a speckled, orange-ish tint to it; her eyes alive with green fire. Paladin stepped back involuntarily.

  “M-ma’am?” he asked.

  “I said how do you know how to get out of the cage, rabbit?”

  “I l-l-learned how to g-g-get out,” he stammered. “B-b-by watching the Son.”

  “The what—?” she asked. The tabby licked her paws and bathed herself calmly.

  “The Son,” Paladin said matter-of-factly. He looked at the other caged animals again. They stared at him with accusing eyes. Their cries of protest still ricocheted about the cabin. The tabby was unmoved by the commotion the others caused (she was one of very few cats amongst several dogs).

  “Well, don’t just stand there!” a black dog growled at Paladin. “Get us out of here!”

  Without thinking, Paladin hopped over to the large dog’s cage.

  The dog paced back and forth rapidly. He would approach the cage door, lower to his forepaws, scratch wildly, and then jump back. Short black fur covered his entire body. His eyes blazed wildly and seemed sunk too far into the sockets—it was not a look Paladin trusted. Even so, Paladin was prepared to open the door and let the dog out were it not for the huge padlock dangling from the latch.

  “Well, what’s the matter?” the dog asked, baring a set of teeth far larger than any Paladin had seen up close. The rabbit swallowed hard. “Afraid I’m going to eat you?” the dog smiled.

  “N – n – no, actually,” Paladin said. He looked at the dog and then at the other animals nervously. Every eye was on him. Bull had even awa
kened from his sleep and watched the scene with great interest. “It’s just . . . well . . .” Paladin lifted the lock so they all could see. The black dog with the wild eyes stared at Paladin distrustfully. “I’ve never seen one of these before,” Paladin said. “It’s some kind of . . . It’s some kind of thing that keeps your door from being opened.”

  “And what about mine?” a squeaky voice piped. Paladin hopped to a nearby cage where a tall, multi-colored bird with a large beak climbed the enclosure. Paladin had seen pictures of impressive-looking birds like this before. This one’s feathers were matted and dirty. Paladin was sure the bird looked nothing like it was supposed to. He felt a wave of pity for these animals.

  How many of them are there? he wondered. Where are the elahs taking them?

  “Hurry, hurry!” the bird squawked.

  “Sorry,” Paladin said. “Your cage has one, too.” He looked at all the cages. “They all have them.” He stared at the animals.

  “So, how exactly did you get out?” a faceless voice asked. Paladin could not tell where it came from.

  “Yeah!” another sneered.

  “What’s going on?!” someone demanded.

  Paladin spun, and answered the jury matter-of-factly: “Mine didn’t have one.”

  “Well, how convenient!” a voice screeched.

  “What are you saying?” a cry came down the corridor. “Can you get us out or not?”

  “I . . . c – c – can’t,” Paladin stammered.

  “Can’t?” one of them hissed. “Or won’t?!”

  “LET US OUT!!!”

  The animals exploded in jeering. They jumped and stamped and clamored and barked. The truck became a wind tunnel of noise. Paladin lowered his head and pulled his sensitive ears down against his shoulders.