Slithers

by Mortensen, WW

  Scottie’s was ever the voice of reason. Tobe trusted that, sought that. Everyone did. Scottie was a leader, a captain; specifically, their captain. This mantle came not by choice or design, because it wasn’t coveted, nor by any kind of physical presence or athletic inclination, because Scottie had neither. It came by virtue of the qualities that inspired others to follow: Scottie’s judgment was sharp, his advice measured, his manner unflappable. It sounded quaint and sugary, even to him, but Tobe had once thought of Scottie as a lighthouse, and the metaphor had stuck; he was a guide and a navigator, seemingly able to access hindsight in the present and reap its benefits immediately.

  For these reasons, there were no protests—none from Rachel, and more notably, none from Brad—when Tobe slowed the van and performed a tight U-turn.

  They had travelled farther than Tobe had realised. The journey back along Day Dawn to where they had seen the hikers took several minutes. This time there was no conversation, no tomfoolery. Tobe paid attention to the road, his eyes trained not just on the starkly-illuminated world summoned into focus by the headlights, but the realm beyond them, too; the darkness lining the road’s inky shoulders.

  The guy and girl appeared suddenly—not as abruptly as before, thank Christ, but in Tobe’s opinion, still too far onto the road—this time walking towards them. Like before, they were side by side, and had resumed a normal walking pace. The headlights framed them and the pair paused, each with a hand raised against the glare. With her other hand the girl waved desperately. She was dressed in jeans and a black concert T-shirt, the guy also in jeans, but draped in a checked flannel shirt. Both wore sturdy boots and oversized backpacks. They seemed to be in their mid-twenties, not much older than Tobe’s group.

  Slowing, Tobe edged past them and performed another U-turn. The headlights jagged away, into the trees, and as the van about-faced, the lights returned to again illuminate the couple, now waiting patiently on the shoulder. The van slowed to a crawl and gravel crunched beneath the tyres. Tobe eased alongside the two and Brad slid open the door, inviting a thick wall of humidity and a fragrant waft of pine. Light from inside the van spilled outside, onto the shoulder, where knee-high grass waved in a faint, warm breeze. Bathed in this brightness, the couple appraised the five newcomers, as timid as animals experiencing their first contact with humans.

  “You’re the guys from before,” the girl said. Her gaze roved the group before landing on Tobe, where they paused, and for an interminable time, remained fixed. The comparison with a wary animal had now passed, and as Tobe’s gaze remained locked on her deep brown eyes, he wondered if it had ever been accurate; this time he thought he saw a predatory flash. Slowly, the girl’s firmly-set lips pulled back, exposing teeth that seemed longer than they should be. “Nice one, asshole,” she said. “Thanks for taking off.”

  Unsettled, thrown more by her manner and countenance than by her words, Tobe baulked, but then bristled. Was she serious? He had half a mind to tell her he was under no compulsion to give them a lift; in fact, right now, he was doing them a big favour, so lay off…

  He didn’t say any of those things. He realised he’d made a mistake, and his face grew hot with shame. Before he could offer an apology, the guy leaned into the van, gave Tobe a knowing look, and spoke to the girl over his shoulder.

  “Babe, it’s all good.” His face was softer and kinder than hers, radiating a carefree coolness enhanced by eyes that, depending on the angle, or the light, or both, appeared sometimes to be cobalt-blue, or jade-green, sometimes both colours at once, or oddly, sometimes neither. Apparently he sensed the tension and was equally discomfited. With the laidback attitude of a surfer—which, with his tanned skin and mousy-brown ponytail, he might well have been—he said to Tobe, “Thanks for coming back.”

  Scottie placed a calming hand on Tobe’s shoulder, and Tobe felt the stiffness in his muscles melt. “I’m sorry about driving off. It’s just that old thing about picking up hitchhikers.”

  “Don’t sweat it, dude,” the guy said, and smiled. He had perfect white teeth. “As I said, it’s all good, and thanks for coming back. I’m Ethan, and this is Tory.”

  There were introductions all round.

  Tory acknowledged Tobe with a subtle jut of her chin. “Tobe?” she said, as though rhyming his name with lobe. “That’s an odd way to pronounce it. Is it short for To-bee?”

  “Yes, short for Toby,” Tobe said.

  Tory nodded. Her short, uneven blonde hair, highlighted with pink streaks, fell into her eyes. The predatory lustre of those eyes seemed to fade as he watched, almost like a light dimming, and as she held him in her gaze—Tobe unable to break it, and more remarkably, not wanting to—she offered him a faint, widening smile. No hint of predacious teeth remained, and in the absence of aggression, Tobe concluded that Tory was a very attractive girl, in a rock-chick kind of way. Now that he was closer, he could make out the T-shirt—Iron Maiden’s undead mascot Eddie bursting from a grave with a wicked grin upon his face and his desiccated hands raised to the sky. Having broken Tory’s scrutiny to stare at her shirt, Tobe soon averted his eyes from this too, aware that he had also been staring at Tory’s chest.

  Ethan and Tory tossed their substantial packs into the extra seats in the back of the van and clambered after them, squeezing past Brad and the girls.

  As they settled in, Sarah swivelled and asked, “Where are you headed?”

  “To the nearest service station,” Ethan said. “Our car ran dry a few kilometres back. You didn’t see it?”

  “No.”

  “I guess you could’ve missed it; out here with no streetlights. We pulled right off the shoulder, into the long grass.”

  “For safety reasons,” Tory added.

  “We’re not from around here,” Ethan said, “and we don’t have roadside assistance. We didn’t know who to call, being Saturday night and all.”

  “You brought a lot of gear,” Brad commented. “Camping somewhere?”

  “We’re hikers, but I suppose you worked that out, hey? Some of our stuff is worth a bit—sentimentally, if nothing else. We didn’t want to leave it in the car. You never know who might be out here.”

  “If you can drop us to the nearest service station, that’d be great,” Tory said. “We can walk back.”

  “We won’t hear of it. We’ll take you back to your car,” Sarah said.

  “Thanks again for helping us out,” Ethan said. “We appreciate it.” He changed the subject. “What about you guys? Where are you off to this fine night?”

  Tobe was struck by a compulsion to keep that information private, or at the very least, vague. That same urge was bolstered by a creeping sense of déjà vu. Had he met this couple before? He didn’t think so, but they seemed familiar. In spite of this—or because of it—he kept his mouth shut. While Ethan—and even Tory, her initial frostiness aside—seemed harmless enough, they were strangers.

  “A friend’s place,” Scottie said, and Tobe wondered if Scottie, too, was of a similar mindset. Voice low, Scottie turned to Tobe. “I checked the navigation app. Just so you know… we were heading the right way before. Towards Teesh’s, I mean.”

  “I thought so,” Tobe said, justified. He raised his voice to the others. “Everyone ready?”

  Brad leaned forward with a sarcastic grin. “Sure. But do you know where you’re going?”

  “According to this,” Scottie said, his focus on the navigation app on his phone, “there’s a station just off the main road ahead, maybe half a dozen clicks away.”

  Looking at Brad, turning the radio up, Tobe said, “Don’t worry, Dawsy, I know where it is… I think.”

  Brad chuckled at Tobe’s self-deprecation and sank back between the girls. There was a clink of glass as Brad retrieved a handful of Coronas from the cooler at his feet and passed them around. He followed this with a loud belch, and more drunken anecdotes. Almost always, these ramblings were grating to Tobe’s ears, although now, as familiar as a well-worn pair of shoes, he
was comforted by them.

  2

  Keen to get moving, Tobe checked the wing-mirrors for traffic. The road was clear. Of course it was; they hadn’t seen another vehicle for half an hour. Consulting the rearview, he caught Tory staring at him. Again, she held the gaze, but in the dim light, her expression was unreadable.

  What was her problem? He’d apologised. He thought they’d started afresh.

  Maybe she was staring for a different reason.

  Tearing his eyes away, Tobe planted his foot and sped off.

  It was nearing eight o’clock. Tobe guessed they hadn’t yet missed dinner, which was good, but they were going to be late. He’d call Teesh from the station and let her know.

  Tory was now staring out the window.

  Tobe returned his gaze to the road, and into his mind’s eye invited an image of a pretty face framed by short brown hair—Lisa’s face. He wondered what she was doing right now, wished they’d picked her up along the way instead of meeting at Teesh’s. While not officially a couple—they’d dated twice, both nights the traditional and somewhat old-fashioned dinner and a movie—things were going well. It was unusual for their age, but they were taking it slow. They were comfortable with that, partly because they worked together. So far, it hadn’t been a problem. She was in payroll, he worked in the warehouse—they didn’t see each other every day.

  He wished they did.

  A sense of longing stole over Tobe. It was not unlike the déjà vu of a moment ago, and he wondered if the two were connected. The desire to see Lisa was deeper and stronger than it should have been. Suddenly he needed to see her, and the more he reached for that, the more he sensed her drifting from him, as though she were on a boat that had slipped its moorings and was floating out to sea. He couldn’t shake the sensation she was in some sort of trouble.

  Don’t be ridiculous. Lisa’s fine.

  But rather than subside, the sentiment swelled, and Tobe was convinced he was having a premonition of some kind. He didn’t believe in omens, not per se, but he trusted instinct, and if nothing else, this was a strong gut feeling. Tobe’s mouth went dry and his heartrate increased. He suspected he was in the throes of a panic attack.

  Concentrating on the road, the headlights, Tobe slowed his breathing, and shortly, almost as soon as it had come, the feeling of impending doom waned. His symptoms subsided and disappeared.

  Lisa was okay. He was frustrated and impatient to see her, that’s all. Before calling Teesh from the station, he’d call Lisa and let her know he’d be there soon.

  He’d tell her his feelings tonight. Tell her he was falling for her.

  Gripped now with this desire, he put his foot down, accelerating.

  A moment ago, when he’d cranked the radio, he’d done so to create a drowning hum, a barrier between him, and those in the back. Obligingly, his passengers had been chatting amongst themselves. He listened now and overheard something about Ethan and Tory quitting their jobs to travel the country, and something else about them heading north to maybe fund their travels with some seasonal work. He had to strain to hear these snippets. He figured he and Scottie could talk privately.

  He glanced at his friend. “How long till we’re out of the forest?” he asked.

  No answer. Scottie had again slipped into one of his daydreams.

  Second time tonight, Tobe thought. Not surprising; just now, he’d been preoccupied himself; he had, like Scottie, disconnected. In fact, ‘disconnect’ was the term they used for Scottie’s unique brand of timeout, their name for those moments he’d switch off. It was a quirk he was known for.

  What happened inwardly when Scottie disconnected was anyone’s guess—Tobe figured it was his friend’s way of processing large swathes of information. At school, Scottie had copped hell about it from the teachers, but by Tobe’s reckoning, that had been more of a boredom thing—Scottie had been a gifted student, miles ahead of everyone. For him, school had been a breeze. Once, during their senior finals, Scottie had disconnected big-time—sitting beside him, Tobe had noticed him staring blankly ahead. At first he’d thought Scottie was stuck on one of the questions, but he hadn’t been. Scottie was out of it. Tobe had thought to rouse him, but didn’t dare speak in front of the teachers. It turned out he didn’t need to. From nowhere, the term ‘wakey-wakey’ had simply popped into Tobe’s head, strong and clear—he hadn’t said the words out loud, of course he hadn’t, but right at that moment, Scottie had jerked back to the present as though Tobe had yelled them at the top of his voice. Tobe had used the phrase ever since.

  “Wakey-wakey,” Tobe said softly.

  When I click my fingers, you’re back in the room.

  Scottie stirred, blinking rapidly, vulnerably. Straightening, he pushed his glasses up his nose, the way he always did when he returned.

  Pivoting, Scottie smiled. “Zoned out again.”

  “I noticed,” Tobe said. “So, how far till we’re out of the forest?”

  He could have estimated. Tobe had some knowledge of the plantation, knew it to be a commercially managed forest where they grew a hybrid species of pine, optimised for speed of growth and quality of wood, or so said Uncle David, who was an engineer there. The huge strip of land was leased from the government, and the publicly accessible Day Dawn Road, this road, was the main artery servicing semi-rural Mountain View. Cutting the forest in two and running for seemingly endless kilometres, Day Dawn was like a broad river, with smaller tributaries branching off it, a scattering of minor sealed roads and narrow dirt tracks that spread like searching fingers deeper into the forest.

  If Tobe had been more familiar with this maze, some of these smaller paths—all of which seemed too insignificant for their navigation apps—would have helped him find the fastest route to Teesh’s. He was certain he’d used one of them as a shortcut the last time he’d come through here, but that had been during the day, in the light. Tonight, he was cautious, concerned about getting lost, especially with Brad riding him mercilessly. And so the best option had been to stick to the artery, where eventually they’d emerge from the several thousand hectares of forest into an area where the plantation effectively halved, occupying the western side of the road only. There, the eastern side became residential, and free of the trees, he could get his bearings again.

  Beyond the windshield, the straight-boled pines pressed on both sides. They seemed close enough to touch. They weren’t, of course.

  Tobe shivered.

  How long since they’d picked up Ethan and Tory? Ten minutes?

  It seemed like forever.

  He couldn’t recall having been stuck in the plantation for this long the last time he’d been out here, couldn’t remember this section of the forest being so large and all-consuming.

  He wondered if they had been driving in circles.

  “A few more clicks until we’re out,” Scottie assured him.

  Tobe nodded. While the others continued their conversation in the back and with his voice masked by music, Tobe whispered to Scottie, “What do you make of those two?” He mouthed the words as much as spoke them. Almost imperceptibly, he tossed his head at Ethan and Tory.

  Scottie hesitated, then started blinking, and Tobe thought he was about to drift inside his head again. “Hey, you okay?” he said.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “You nearly disconnected; again. You’re doing it a lot tonight, more than usual, a couple of times already. Are you okay?”

  “I’m tired.”

  Behind them, in the back, the banter continued, the others not part of the conversation up front. Tobe abandoned his previous question. “I get the feeling we’re not going to make it to Teesh’s tonight,” he said.

  “Why do you say that?”

  Tobe shook his head. “I don’t know. A feeling.”

  “We’ll get there, don’t worry.”

  “I was going to speak to Lisa tonight.”

  “Yeah?”

  Tobe looked at Scottie, who was blinking again. He was a
shen-faced. “Scottie, seriously, you don’t look so good.”

  Scottie stared straight ahead. “I’m fine. And Lisa? Don’t worry, Tobe, it’ll work out the way it’s meant to. Trust me.”

  “I trust you, Scoop, always have and always will.” They bumped fists, another of their rituals, and Tobe went on. “Even so, everything is off-kilter tonight, a little out of control. Don’t you feel it? Like we’ve been side-tracked or something.”

  Scottie, who had shifted his gaze once more to the road, turned back to Tobe. Some of the colour had revisited his face, and his eyes were now firm and alive. “No, we’re on track, Tobe; exactly where we’re meant to be.”

  Tobe frowned. In isolation, Scottie’s words had superficial meaning; the kind of commonplace phrasing that bestowed assurance and inspired confidence. But in the context of this moment, they seemed deeper and more profound, prophetic almost, as though Scottie was privy to something Tobe was not. Tobe opened his mouth to ask him what he meant just as the truck bored around the bend.

  Headlights blazing, it surged across the road. It was huge—a twenty-two-wheeler, loaded up with sawlogs from the mill—and it was zigzagging side to side, the trailer fishtailing, threatening to jack-knife.

  Tobe froze—physically—although his mind raced, and again he was gripped by that odd sense of déjà vu. He had a flashing thought about bad luck… a second incident on this damn road—

  “Holy shit!”

  The massive cab swerved again—away, momentarily, then back, rolling towards them like a ship in heavy seas. It took up the entire road, bearing down in what felt like slow motion. Then everything sped up again and there was a flash of chrome lettering—M A C K—and a wail of rubber even louder than the screams coming from the back seats, and then Tobe opened his own mouth and—

  A hand grabbed at the wheel and heaved left. There was another one, too, reaching across, yanking on the handbrake. Tobe flew forward and sideways, the light blinding him as a sudden, frightening slap rang out like a couple of giant hands smacking together. He was weightless for a second. A bone-jarring jolt took him forwards—and down.