Extinction_Planet Urth

by Jennifer Martucci

  “The river.” I breathe two simple words.

  June turns and looks at me. Her eyes are round. “I was hoping he was wrong.”

  “I was, too,” I reply. “What do we do now?”

  Clearly, he was not. If the river is wide where we are and we cannot cross it, we’ll be forced to leave the bikes and try to swim across it.

  “Let’s see what we’re up against,” June says. Her expression is determined as she restarts her bike and takes off toward the sound. I follow her until her bike slides to a standstill. We are at a lip of grass beyond which foamy white peaks of roiling water waits. “It’s not that wide,” June says above the sound of the rushing current and the engines.

  “It’s not, but we can’t ride across it. The current will sweep us away. We have to leave the bikes and swim across.” The realization lands like a ham-fisted punch to my gut. I want to curse. To cry. Hunger, frustration and exhaustion collide, testing the fabric of my sanity. I need to get through this forest alive with my sister and find my children. That’s all that matters. Surviving to find my children and my husband.

  June doesn’t reply. Instead, she turns and rides away from me, increasing the distance between her and the river’s edge. She stops, facing me and the river, revving her engine.

  “June, what are you doing?” I shout. She ignores me. “June!” I call out.

  Without warning, June takes off, kicking up a spray of dirt and pebbles behind her as she races headlong toward the river.

  “June no!” I scream.

  But she is undaunted. She darts full-speed, reaching the lip of land before the river, and launches into the air. She and the bike clear the width of the river, landing on the grassy bed on the other side of it. The rear tire lands first before the front one settles. She’s upright and unharmed much to my astonishment. I don’t know whether to be furious at her or overjoyed.

  “Come on!” she calls out to me as she waves me toward her.

  Head pounding and blood hammering against my skin like the beat of a war drum, the hiss and churn of the water has me panicking. I watched June make it over the river successfully, but every cell in my body is screaming that I will not.

  “Hurry!” June shouts from the other side. “Just do it! For William and John!”

  And with her words, the voice in my head telling me I can’t is silenced. John and William need me. John and William. That’s all I focus on. Their faces. Their eyes. Their smiles. Their hugs.

  Following June’s path away from the river, I drive then turn my bike around. I rev the engine several times, pleading with the universe to get me across the river and to my boys safely. Popping the clutch the front end of the bike rears, snarling before it lurches forward. Wind lashes my face as I pick up speed, the river racing toward me at an alarming pace.

  As soon as I reach the lip and the front end raises, airborne, I hold my breath. There’s no turning back. My bike takes off. I am hurtling through the air.

  Water sprays from below and the world falls silent save for my frantic heartbeat.

  I’ve nearly cleared the river when my rear tire lands, snagging the rocky embankment. I’m flung aside, my shoulder taking the brunt of the impact.

  “Avery!” June shrieks. She rushes to my side to see if I’m okay.

  Throbbing flares to life from my elbow to my shoulder, sending trembling veins of pain all down the side of my body. Slowly, I sit up. Nothing feels broken. I don’t have the intense agony of a broken bone.

  “Avery, are you alright?” June is at my ear. “Can you stand?”

  “I’m fine. I think.” I stretch and flex both arms then scramble to my feet clumsily. “Is my bike okay? Did it get washed away?” I look and expect to see that it’s gone or in pieces. Surprisingly, it’s intact and leaning against the riverbed. Even the food survived within the closed storage compartment, a fact I am thankful for.

  “Let’s take it easy for a few minutes and eat before we ride out again, okay?” June says.

  “Okay,” I agree.

  She sets about retrieving food from the basket and brings water in a canteen.

  We eat quickly and ride until our fuel is depleted. Once the motorcycles are no longer available to us and we’re on foot, the landscape changes dramatically. We hide the bikes in thick bramble and set off, walking.

  “This forest has its own energy,” June says. “I can’t explain it but there’s, I don’t know, a pulse or something here.”

  I understand exactly what she means. Beyond the woodland sounds and beyond the eerie sense of watchfulness is a palpable thrum. Like the rhythm of a sleeping beast, who at any second could wake, the cadence is a deadly beat.

  “I agree,” I say. “I feel it, too.”

  I watch as June’s head oscillates from left to right, just as mine does. The rustle of fallen leaves and the snap of branches underfoot as we advance is an unsettling sound. It drowns out all other sounds. Forcing that detail to the back of my mind, my eyes continue to sweep the landscape before me. In the distance, I see nothing but shapes that grow darker as growth grows denser. Wisps of milky mist blanket the terrain, glowing eerily in the shafts of light. The meager light available dims as the treetop canopy becomes more concentrated.

  “I can barely make out the path we were on,” June comments in a low concerned voice.

  The path to which she refers is little more than a six-inch-wide area of dirt that winds, pulling us deeper and deeper into the darkened heart of the woodland. It must’ve been formed by Lurkers, for no human or Urthman could exist here long enough to form it. It’s become overrun by braided vines that slink from the ground and up into branches.

  “I think the path disappeared a while back.” I toss my thumb over my shoulder and gesture behind me.

  A vine snags June’s ankle and she stumbles briefly before regaining her footing. “Jeez, you’re not kidding.” She huffs a thick curl that loosened from her braid off of her brow.

  All around me, the woods remain intensely watchful, growing more so with each moment that ticks by. It’s as if it’s waiting with bated breath for us to pass through. Luring us in to its lair. To a great trap.

  Quickening my pace, I jog, urging June to do the same and all too aware of the sensation of being watched. My shirt and pants cling to my body, damp with perspiration, as exertion and nerves work against me.

  This part of the forest is heavy with the scent of evergreens and musty earth. Pinecones continue to fall from trees and land with soft thuds and plunks. Overhead and all around us, imposing trees with limbs that sag as if bearing the weight of snow stand sentinel, intimidating with their pointed barbs and rigid appearance. Shadows of tree branches dance along our path as if waving us forward, inviting us deeper into the fray of this uncharted area of the woods. I do not see a craggy rock formation, or anything for that matter, other than towering pines, firs and other green, spiny-leaved trees. A rock formation would suggest a cave, which is what I had hoped to find. Even if it were small, June and I would find a way to squeeze inside, I am sure. But the possibility of finding a cave seems remote at this point.

  A thread of doubt begins to weave its way into my brain. But there isn’t time for doubt or hesitation, only commitment. I have committed myself to making it out of this forest in one piece. I’ve committed myself to staying alive and finding my family.

  We push ahead and make our way through the thicket. Sunset is encroaching. The meager light that sluiced through branches has shifted west. Before long, darkness will be upon us. And with darkness comes Lurkers. We need to find shelter immediately.

  “It’ll be getting dark soon,” June says as if reading my thoughts.

  “I know. We need to find a place to hide out.”

  We continue walking for quite some time. We get to a point where the pines and evergreens grow side by side closely and I get a better view of what we have to work with. Nothing. We have nothing to work with at this point.

  Worry sends an icy chill through m
e that courses through my veins until it wraps itself around my heart and nearly freezes it mid-beat. I look over my shoulder at June. Small coiled tendrils of her blonde hair have escaped her braid and frame her face. Her complexion is flushed, and a small crease marks the space between her eyebrows. She takes a long drink from her canteen before capping it.

  All around me is the musky scent of molded leaves and seasons changing. But the scent of animals—Lurkers more specifically—grows cloying. Their burrows must be near.

  “That smell,” June says and pinches her nose. “Lurkers. Must be.”

  “We’re close to their burrows and tunnels.” The acrid stench feels as if it coats my tongue when I speak. “We must be.”

  “Judging from how bad the smell is, there must be thousands of them in this area alone.” She shivers despite the clammy conditions of the forest.

  “I know. This is bad, June,” I turn to her and say. “We need to find a place to hide out for the night. I was hoping for a cave but there is nothing even remotely cave-like that I’ve seen.”

  June nods. “What do we do?”

  I look all around me. “The only option we have is to hide out in a tree.”

  “A tree? Like we did with Will, Oliver and Riley?” she asks.

  “Yes, just like that,” I reply.

  “We barely survived that night. We were lucky.” I notice goosebumps dimpling the skin on June’s arms.

  “I know. But what’s the alternative? It’s not like we can make camp here and sleep the night through. We’ll be torn limb from limb as soon as the Lurkers come out for the night.”

  “Torn limb from limb,” June echoes my words. She shudders. “Thanks for that visual. I’m well aware of what they do.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. This place just freaks me out. Everything about it.” I look around half expecting a creature to reveal itself and charge us. “We grew up in the forest and it never felt like this, did it?”

  “Never.” June shakes her head adamantly. “It never felt the way this place feels. This forest is vast and creepy. Vaster and creepier than any we’ve ever been in.”

  “I agree.” Now it is I who shivers. “I’m afraid to see what comes out at night. Lurkers and who-knows-what else.”

  “Me, too.” She scans the area. “I guess a tree is the only option we have.” Her eyes travel the height of the one nearest. “Let’s just hope nothing lives up there and is waiting for us when we get up there.”

  My heart sinks. I hadn’t considered the possibility. I assumed this forest was like others in which we’ve traveled. But I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t take anything for granted. Not in the Great Forest.

  But what other choice do we have? We will have to take our chances in the treetop rather than stay down here and await slaughter.

  Forcing the notion of beasties in treetops to the back of my mind, I set about finding a tree. Once one is selected, June shoots a rabbit and a squirrel for our dinner. We will save the dried meat for tomorrow and the rest of our journey. We make a small fire and roast the meat once the animals are skinned and gutted. June extinguishes the fire with dirt and is careful to clear any evidence of our flames, just as we were taught to as small children. With our bellies full, the time to retreat to the tree is upon us.

  Through the intertwined branches, I see that the sky is a faded blue, wan and pallid beside the stretch of light that is the setting sun in the west. Day has not yet surrendered to dusk but will do so soon. We must get up into the tree before the sun disappears.

  Eyes cast upward, I stand before the selected tree. Broad, bushy limbs stretch and look as if they’d mingle with the constellations when darkness falls. Interlacing my fingers, I place them low. “June, step into my hands and I’ll hoist you up,” I say. June nods without question or argument. “Climb. Keep climbing until I tell you to stop.” I hear the urgency in my voice and watch as it sets June’s feet into motion. She clambers knotted knobs on the trunk until limbs intersect one another like ladder rungs with me behind her. Only once do I crane my neck and look down. I realize in that moment how high up I have climbed and feel a wave of cold nausea crash over me. My skin grows damp and my brow and palms become slickened with sweat. A whimper attempts to vault from deep in my throat but is seized by the lump of terror lodged there. I lose the ability to feel my heart beating in my chest and my hearing assumes a muffled quality similar to being underwater and perceiving sounds above the surface that are softened and distorted. But I fight it. Push it back. I push back the anxious reactions raiding my body and climb. My arms and legs feel as if they’re made of sponge and my insides quiver. But the instinctive need to survive wins out over my silent panic attack.

  Once we’ve reached a sufficient height where we are both supported and concealed, I hoist my leg up onto a limb and sit with my body leaning against the thinner center portion of the tree. June takes her place opposite me. We will wait here until a blazing arc of orange crests on the horizon line. We will endure the forest at night—a forest that teems with Lurkers—sitting on a tree limb concealed by leaves and branches. I hope we survive. Lurkers can climb, but why would they? If they don’t see us, they won’t climb out in search of us. That’s the hope.

  June and I watch as the sun melts into the skyline. Night descends quickly. Darkness, thick and sinister, swallows us whole. Stony moonlight barely penetrates the dense treetops, casting a ghostly pallor and fading everything it touches to an ashen silver-gray.

  Bloodsuckers swarm my face as I clutch June’s waist with one arm and the branch of the tree I am sitting on with the other. I want nothing more than to shake my head from side to side wildly and swat the air around my face. But I cannot. I must endure the onslaught of mosquitos and allow them to feast on me. Being their human buffet table, though annoying, is a welcome alternative to being a midnight snack to a Lurker. I squeeze my eyes shut and repeat that fact in my head again and again. But when I hear the swish of grass below, they snap open. I glance beneath me, through the intricately interwoven network of branches, and see dark shadows, oily and blacker than the pitch darkness. Lurkers, I am certain, are stealing about. They slink by, prowling in the night. I hold my breath. I do not dare look down again and risk my stomach pitching before diving to my feet and silently hope they do not sense us.

  When the soft sound of grass rustling passes, I fill my lungs with air and offer thanks to whatever nocturnal animal they were likely tracking. I lower my chin and peek fleetingly at the earth below before returning my gaze to June. In the weak light provided by anemic rays of moonlight filtering through the forest canopy, I can see her face is stricken. I can see the fear etched in her features. Gone is the radiant glow of her skin and fire-lit green of her eyes. I want to tell her I am sorry. Sorry for all of this. But we must remain silent. Silent and vigilant.

  A slight breeze whispers through the treetop in which we are tucked. My stomach sways along with the branches. I only hope that our scent is not carried on it. If the Lurkers pick up on it, they will hunt, searching until we are found and consumed.

  Despite being completely sapped of energy and more spent than I can ever remember being, knowing that I am perched high in a tree with murderous Lurkers stalking in the vicinity and seated in an extremely uncomfortable position sends a jolt rocketing through my insides. That jolt is immediately followed by a sensation that makes my scalp tighten and tingle.

  Another breeze stirs the leaves and thin branches around us. The entire tree sways and my stomach pitches with the list. I take a cursory glance in the distance. All I see are lurkers. Packs of lurkers roaming the forest floor. Goose bumps prickle my arms as waves of apprehension sweep over me. It feels as if a lifetime has passed since I’ve been in a predicament such as this.

  The night creeps at a painfully sluggish pace. I fear I will fall, so I do not sleep, save for the intermittent dozing that leads to waking with a terrified start. When day finally dawns, I feel as if I may cry. I am bone-tired; fatigued
in a way that surpasses physical exhaustion. But I know a daunting task awaits me. I must climb down from the tree. And I must hike for the entire day.

  I groan and June stirs. “I didn’t really sleep,” she says.

  “Me neither.” I lean forward, my muscles and joints protesting the movement. “How could we sleep? The yelps and wet slopping noises of the Lurkers feeding was enough to make me never want to sleep again. It was the stuff of nightmares.”

  “Whatever they killed was big. It didn’t go down easily, that’s for sure.” June references the tortured cries of what must’ve been an enormous creature just at the base of our tree. At some point just before dawn, the Lurkers happened upon it. A clash ensued. We couldn’t see any of it. But the chuffs and grunts, the yelps and cries, along with the sound of clawing were enough to suggest that a few Lurkers perished in the skirmish. And that whatever was killed was substantial in size and strength. Something else to fear in the Great Forest. For if we learned anything, it is that where one predator exists, more exist.

  “No, it didn’t. I’m still shaking after hearing it,” June confesses.

  “Me, too,” I admit. A few moments pass before I say, “We need to get down. We need to hike and cover as much ground as we can while it’s daytime.” I slide forward with a groan. Everything hurts.

  “I’m so tired I’m dizzy,” June says as she moves from her spot.

  “I’m sorry,” I say to her. I feel the same way. My limbs shake and my eyes burn as I clumsily descend the ladder-like branches and then finally the knobby trunk. We drink water from the canteen and eat the last of the fruit before setting off. We’ve just left a particularly dense cluster of growth when June freezes in place. Without thinking, I unsheathe my sword and assume a battle stance. But when I peek around her, I do not believe what I’m seeing. Surely I must be sleepwalking or having some kind of exhaustion-induced hallucination.