by Maaja Wentz
“Marta, are you okay?” Shin went down on one knee and put his hand on her forehead.
Marta didn’t move. Priya touched her shoulder. No reaction.
“Wake up.” said Shin.
They each took one hand but when they tried to lift Marta up, she shook them off. Marta started to rise, hands out for balance. She wobbled up to her full height and opened her eyes.
“How long have you two been together?” Marta’s voice sounded groggy.
“Priya’s worried about you.”
“That’s your excuse for going off into the woods together?” Marta steadied herself against the tree.
“Want to come back to rez?” Shin held out his hands.
“Not with you two.” Marta closed her eyes and slid down the trunk. “Nap time.”
Her gentle speech and the way her legs practically collapsed beneath her surprised Priya. Where was Marta’s attitude?
Shin stepped forward and took Marta by the shoulders, “You can’t sleep here. It’ll freeze overnight.” He laid his hands gently along the sides of her face tilting her head up, but Marta wouldn’t open her eyes.
“C’mon, I’ll take you back to your room.” The tender way he kissed Marta’s forehead took Priya’s breath away.
“So much for breaking up,” said Priya.
Shin still had feelings for Marta and they were putting him in danger. What if Marta was infecting him right now? Priya wanted to protect Shin, but he was right. It was chilly and would get much colder. If Marta fell asleep out here, she’d get hypothermia.
Marta made a vague mumbling sound and swatted in Shin’s direction before her arms fell limp at her sides.
“You see the strange way she’s moving,” Priya said, “like Professor Rudolph, sleepwalking.” They had to act, before she got out of control like him. “Maybe she is sick.”
“I got this.” He lifted Marta into his arms and strode back toward campus.
WHAT’S WORSE THAN SNAKES?
It was dark when Roberto awoke. He was outside, his back uncomfortably pressed against something hard. He tried to move his arms or stand but strong ropes held him in place. He was tied to a tree.
“Hey! Help! Help!”
Nobody seemed to hear him, despite a cemetery filled with people. He could see flashlights moving between the tombstones and among the trees. Halloween. Roberto heard the faint shouts of university kids, partying somewhere nearby. Closer, he heard individual shouts and cheers coming from every direction, but nobody responded to his cries.
The moon peeked out from behind the clouds allowing Roberto to make out his surroundings. He was tied to a tree of average size, behind the big Ash Tree he used to run by in the cemetery. Why had somebody left him just inside the cemetery, near the break in the fence? He remembered the white-haired man, the surprise injection, and passing out in the foyer of Loon Lake Hospital. This must be the work of Helen’s enemies. Did they put him here for Helen to find him?
Poor boy. Don’t bother your head trying to figure it out. Just relax.
Roberto tried to locate the source of the voice, but nobody was there.
Roberto, you are outranked, outflanked, and you surrendered before you knew we were at war. When it comes to strategy, you flunked the final exam.
“Professor Rudolph?”
I am Rudolph, yet so much more. Let go. Join the amalgam of consciousness. I can already taste your memories and thoughts. Peruvian archeology. Your abuela’s magic. Delicious visions of Machu Picchu in sunshine, and the smell of rain on the Inca Trail. It’s a shame I’ll never walk it with my wife . . .
Roberto felt hundreds of disjointed images and sounds stream into his mind, making his head spin. He strained against his ropes not wanting to hear Rudolph’s silky words in his head or relive the Professor’s memories, but he couldn’t resist forever. The pull of something under the ground crooned at him to surrender.
He felt himself slipping into a murmur of voices gathered somewhere in the earth below. With every minute, they sounded louder, the words and images more fascinating. He felt his body relax as his mind opened to it and all pain faded away. Even if someone were to cut his bonds right now he might be tempted to stay a little longer. Long enough to understand what he was feeling—
—unless the person cutting the ropes was Lynette. The memory of her face and her slender arms returned to him and he wanted to escape again.
Don’t struggle. You’ll only make it worse.
Roberto tried to wriggle free of the fibers. They moved like pythons, cinching him tighter each time he exhaled, winding relentlessly up and around his chest, compressing more and more of his ribcage.
“Help! Help!”
His cries started out strong but petered out as constriction made it hard to breathe, and fibers began growing into his mouth. He gnawed them off and spat them out, but a new crop forced their way in. The second he stopped fighting he would stop breathing, asphyxiated by the living gag, and coils crushing his ribs.
And then, salvation. A couple came along the path, laughing and talking, unaware of his plight. Roberto was so tightly bound he couldn’t move an arm to wave, or use his fiber-filled mouth to shout.
If he could just make a sound they might look his way. Inhaling through his nose, Roberto tried to yell.
Whistling through roots that clogged his throat, a scream came out, too muffled to hear. Roberto took a second breath and waited for them to get closer. The coils kept tightening around his ribs but if he kept his lungs full, he should have enough breath for one last sound as they passed.
The coils seemed to anticipate his strategy, cinching his chest until he felt a rib waver, then snap under pressure. Through agony, Roberto felt the coils tighten around the break to take up the slack. Everything went cold except the pain. His body shook, and he had to fight to stay conscious. The vines were crushing his chest, rib by rib, and there was no way to stop them. If he died he’d never see Lynette again.
Give up, Roberto, you can’t resist. The pain will end when you let go.
BANG!
Tonya came up behind a dark figure, leaning against the Ash, half hidden by the enormous trunk. Her flashlight revealed the arm and side of his rumpled suit. As she closed in, stench washed over her. Stepping around in front of him, Tonya noticed white roots trailing out of his eye sockets.
Tonya, don’t go. Stay with me.
Professor Rudolph used his calm, history lecture voice, which made everything worse. Tonya backpedaled until she was up against the fence. Outside, she could see happy students standing around the bonfire. She wanted to scream at them to evacuate the area, but it was hopeless with a malfunctioning loud hailer. She would be ignored or laughed at again.
Tonya knew she’d probably regret it but there was no choice. She pulled off her Hazmat hood in order to shout louder. As she did, a cluster of dark slashes in the fabric stood out in the moonlight. With her flashlight, she examined a series of razor cuts, deliberately punched into the back of the hood. So much for an infection barrier. She hadn’t noticed the sabotage when she got dressed, but it explained how she could smell Professor Rudolph’s corpse.
At the hospital, Tonya had told Donna her plan. She had needed help and didn’t know who to trust. It looked like she had made the wrong choice, but how was she to know? Marta’s mother had never treated her badly. In middle school, she reprimanded her daughter when Marta snubbed Tonya for being a Pure. Tonya shook her head. Donna’s treachery proved Donna knew there was something contagious in the cemetery, and she wanted Tonya to catch it.
Mom never would have suspected Donna’s politics. For hundreds of years, Trads and Mods had fought for control of Loon Lake, but Mom willfully ignored such struggles. Trads controlled City Council and they, like Mom, wanted to regulate magic use and hide it from the Mundanes.
As a child, Tonya thought Mom’s anti-magic stance unfair. Arguments usually ran like this:
“The other kids at school use magic, why can’t I?”
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“Because you’re a Pure.”
“You’re a Pure. I can be whatever I like.”
“As long as you live under this roof, you won’t touch magic.”
Tonya obeyed until, as a teen, she learned by watching the other kids. They laughed at her but didn’t chase her away. Maybe they felt sorry for her. And why shouldn’t Tonya learn a little? It wasn’t illegal to use magic discreetly, among Trads.
One day, Mom caught Tonya with her hand on a tree, sensing life energy. She kept Tonya home from school and banished her to her room. At the end of the day, Mom brought dinner.
“Why can’t I use magic like Aunt Helen?” asked Tonya.
“It’s dangerous.”
“You want me to be just like you.”
“I want you to be happy.”
“So, let me learn magic.”
“Magic broke Helen’s heart.”
“That’s stupid.”
“It’s true.”
“Is that why she never married?”
“Ask her yourself.” Mom left abruptly, and refused to talk about it, ever.
SIRENS WERE APPROACHING the cemetery. Time to get out of here.
The police would probably enter through the eastern gate and drive through and out the Western Gate to reach the bonfire. To see the Ash Tree, they would have to walk along footpaths.
Tonya hurried west. She didn’t want to run into police. If she did, she’d be tempted to rush over and warn them of the epidemic. Drawing attention to herself would be a mistake. The cops would be looking for a perpetrator after she’d called in the anonymous bomb threat.
Tonya’s stomach growled. She wanted chocolate, and steak. Maybe together. Although she was prone to nibbling when anxious, Tonya wondered if her cravings proved she was infected.
A widespread shuffling blocked the road ahead of her. Out of the trees and descending the hill, frowning, foot-dragging beings shambled toward her en masse. Tonya paused, unsure whether it was safe to walk through this tide of . . . sleepwalkers? Zombies?
No. Judging by their swearing and muttering, and by a few wearing beer guzzler hats, these students were dragging their feet to delay leaving the woods, and to express their annoyance at the cops for breaking up the party. As the slow mob of pissed-off party-goers continued east toward campus, one pointed to Tonya.
“That’s her! The one in yellow. She wanted us out. She must have called the cops!”
“She was weird in high school,” said a girl.
“Get her!” called a guy wearing a funnel hat.
Tonya thought about standing her ground. She was acting to save them. She shouldn’t be afraid. This wasn’t high school anymore. She stepped forward to explain the danger . . .
A wave of shouting people charged.
Tonya ran off the path and up the hill. Branches caught at her Hazmat suit. She didn’t dare sneak a glance, but she could almost feel their beery breath on the back of her neck. Tonya tossed away her hood and raced up the hill, hoping they wouldn’t follow, but they did. Like a pack of wolves, the leader barked orders at them, describing how to outflank and capture Tonya.
Descending the other side, she continued north and ran through the bushes. The woods weren’t as thick here, but she tripped over headstones and roots in the dark. The sound of her pursuers was softer now, but she didn’t dare turn on her flashlight. She could hear them fanning out, looking to see where she went. As quietly as she could, Tonya slipped behind a large monument to think.
Tonya had to get to the chapel and find her bike.
Dashing from bush to tree to headstone for cover, she peered into the black. Was she still going the right way? She searched the sky ahead for the familiar chapel spire but couldn’t see it, like a black cat in a coal mine.
She angled her head this way and that, peering intently. Something glinted up ahead. Bingo! Moonlight on the chapel windows. She closed the distance quickly and groped the bushes until she found her bike. She swung a leg over and had just pushed off when the students swarmed her.
She rang the bell and ploughed into the crowd, which instinctively stepped back just long enough for her to get free. She circled around the chapel but there were teens clogging the main road between the Eastern and Western Gates. With no other choice, she headed north toward the big hill overlooking the lake.
The group stayed with her, no matter how hard she pedaled, so she cut sharply onto what looked like a deer path. It was a hard slog uphill, but she kept pumping her pedals. Thank goodness for all those summer workouts.
At the summit, she intended to hide out in the base of a hollow tree she remembered from childhood. Nobody would think to find her there. She smiled to herself despite the sweaty Hazmat suit. She had escaped the pack of beery nutcases, or at least she thought so, until she heard footfalls on the path behind her.
They had caught up and she couldn’t go any faster uphill. One guy was so close she heard his heavy breathing and thumping tread. He must be massive to make that much noise on soft ground, but Tonya didn’t risk turning her head to look. On a path this narrow, a moment of inattention could slam her into a tree. The only way was to outdistance him. Tonya pedaled until her thighs burned. She should be out of reach soon. The terrain leveled out and she was going faster.
What was with this guy? He didn’t seem to tire. He was gaining on her. There was a whoosh of air at her back, as if he had tried to grab her and missed. Pain forgotten, she pedaled faster than ever in her life.
“I got her!” he announced in a powerful bass voice.
Tonya snuck a glance back in time to see him lunge. She feinted to the left, but it would only be seconds before he caught up and pulled her off the bike.
With the puffy Hazmat suit encumbering her legs, she could feel herself losing speed when she needed it most. She would never get away without an incline. The only hope left was to somehow descend toward the water, but the top of the hill was studded with trees. She didn’t dare go off the path, so she circled around in a clearing, looking for a way down.
She spotted a faint track leading southwest. She could roll down it faster than anyone could run. She swerved and headed for the dip which twisted right, then left, before suddenly turning into a drop.
She hurtled down the hill on a tiny track, visible like a pencil line on charcoal. Keeping clear of the trees was hard as speed turned them to a midnight blur. The only sounds were the wind rushing past, riffling the plastic legs of her suit, and her gasping breaths. At this speed, it was hard to keep control. She could brake, a little, and steer even less, but she needed both hands on the handlebars. She would just have to—
Bang!
CAUGHT
Tonya shivered, laid out on leaves edged with frost. Her head spun when she tried to raise it and her stomach roiled. It was difficult to order the thoughts ricocheting inside her tender skull. What time was it? How long had she lain there?
Her ears were ringing, distorting sounds of police shouting and dogs barking. Through the trees, an officer wielded a powerful flashlight. Every few paces his German Sheppard sniffed at the fallen leaves then led his master in a circle, looking for a bomb that wasn’t there.
Last night in a panic, making a bomb threat to evacuate the woods had seemed like genius. Tonya hadn’t anticipated endangering the lives of these officers who might be breathing infected air as they searched under every leaf. Unless she confessed, they would keep looking.
Admitting she made a false bomb threat would get her charged, but it couldn’t be helped. That is, unless she could think of a good excuse for her actions? Tonya shook her head at her own folly, making herself dizzier. There was only one way out of this mess. She had to invent a rational, believable explanation for crying bomb, one that didn’t involve magical fires or mysterious eating epidemics. Trying to think made her head throb more.
She tried to sit up, but the world wobbled. She touched her forehead and felt a teacup-sized bump.
That’s it! I’m faking amne
sia.
The sky disappeared, blocked out by a monstrous head. Black eyes stared into hers and a deep growl sent her neck hairs standing. She wanted to flee until a gleam of light highlighted the beast’s enormous teeth. She froze. Its rotten breath invaded her nose.
“I found somebody!” said an officer. He recalled his dog, but not before it dribbled slobber onto her face. Tonya groaned. She hated dog slobber.
A second officer approached. “Are you okay?”
She nodded, then winced as that movement sent pain through her head.
As the first officer rejoined the search with his dog, Tonya wasn’t sure what to do. Should she protect this cop by telling the truth or deceive him in case Donna’s family had infiltrated the police?
“What happened?” he asked.
“I hit my head on a tree.” She cupped the goose egg on her forehead.
“You were riding your bike off the path, in the dark?” He stood with his hands on his hips.
“I was being chased by angry students.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“They were upset because I called about a bomb and they had to leave.” Tonya sat up gingerly.
He stroked his chin and got down on his haunches. He pointed a flashlight into her face. “What bomb?”
“I saw suspicious wires in the trees and I thought, terrorists for sure, right?” Better sound as ditzy as possible if she was going to sell this tale. “Then everybody got mad and came after me.”
“We haven’t found any bomb.”
“Thank goodness! That must be why I’m still alive. I was sure everything was about to blow.”
“Where did you see these wires?”
“It was dark.” She looked around pretending to search for landmarks. “I don’t know but somewhere on the path, near the small hill.”
He extended a hand and helped her to her feet. Tonya groaned. Her leg muscles were in agony from running and pedaling, and stiff from lying on the frosty ground. She took a step forward, but her leg refused to extend fully, and she stumbled.