"Nora!" Syd shouted. Nora kept moving. Syd threw open the door, climbed out after her. He called to her again. Nora disappeared, laughing. He called to her again.
Nothing.
Syd cursed and considered his options. Not many. She was playing games with him. He was stranded. He was starting to get pissed.
"NORA!!"
From the trees, her echoing mirth. There was nothing else to do. Syd cursed again, and followed.
The woods were still and silent as he picked his way through the underbrush, the only sounds around him his own clumsy fumbling and the subtle rush of breeze through branches. The weather was a little warmer than yesterday, but not by much: he could still see his breath, felt the damp night chill on his skin. A gentle breeze wafted around him, hissing through the trees. Syd had left the Mustang's headlights on, the better to see her with; they tossed garish monster-movie shadows before being utterly absorbed by dense growth. Twenty yards in and he was steeped in darkness, without a clue as to how he was going to find her.
Then, without warning, the headlights shut off.
And the real blackness settled in.
Syd whirled, caught the last faint glow of dying light. His pupils dilated, desperately trying to capture every stray bit of luminescence. Then it faded, withdrew.
And Syd was screwed.
Because the night that descended upon him then was not city-night, not twinkly-lights-in-the-distance night or even creepy-don't-go-down-that-back-alley night, where the shadows skulked and huddled in corners and between street lamps.
This was nature's own mother night, and her dominion was complete. Syd couldn't see his hand in front of his face, his feet on the ground, or the way back to the car. He felt suddenly helpless, trapped. He probed around with his left foot, took a testing baby step forward. His leg snagged a fallen branch, then bumped painfully against a rotten stump. His eyes bugged wide, cones and rods screaming.
He stopped, let his sight adjust until he could make out shapes, vague silhouettes. It was still horrible. He blundered forth, hands clutching blindly, calling out her name.
"Nora!" he whispered. "Nora, dammit, where are you?"
"I'm right beside you."
Syd spun; squinting, surprised. One of the shadows moved, and Nora's form became faintly visible: leaning against a pine, an arm's length away.
"Jesus!" he hissed. "Don't do that!"
"Why are you whispering?"
"What? Oh . . ." He caught himself. "Nora, quit fucking around. The lights just went out on the car."
"I know," she said. "I turned them off."
"You did what. . . ?" Syd stopped, stymied, wondering how she had doubled back and then found him again so quickly. He couldn't see her face, but there was no mistaking the amusement in her voice. He reached out to her, a blind man reading flesh braille. "Let's just get out of here. . . ."
"Why?" she replied. "What's the rush?"
He started to say something else, but she just kissed him again, effectively silencing his objections. Her mouth was a warm sanctuary; Syd felt his senses unconsciously focus around it. He touched her face, then slid down her neck to her shoulders. When he felt the bare skin of her back, Syd stopped, shocked. She was topless.
"Jesus!" he gasped. "What the fuck are you doing?"
Nora just laughed, pulled him close. As she did he realized that she was not just topless, she was completely stripped, bare-ass naked in the middle of the pitch-black woods. Her flesh was taut; her nipples stiff, yearning. She nuzzled him; as she did her fingers snaked inside his jacket, began unbuttoning his shirt. Industrious little creatures, working overtime.
"Take this off," she ordered.
"I don't want to," he said, pulling her fingers away. She kissed him again, and Syd felt his resistance crumble. Nora pressed against the rising bulge in his pants, squeezed. The thought of one more beer seemed suddenly irrelevant, unnecessary.
"You don't need another beer," she whispered, as if reading his mind. She kissed him again. "I know what you need."
"What," he countered sarcastically, "to screw out in the woods?"
"Maybe," she said, meeting him, attitude for attitude. "If you wanna be with me you better learn to expect the unexpected. Know what I mean?" Syd paused, then nodded.
"Good."
Nora started to peel his jacket off; Syd hovered on the threshold of abandon, then shrugged, let her. "Anybody ever tell you you're out of your mind?" he said.
"All the time." She peeled his shirt off, let it drop. "Constantly." She dropped down, pulled his boots and socks off, then unhitched his jeans and tugged them down. As he stepped out of them she came up, grabbed his wrist and unsnapped his watch, tossing it on the pile.
At last Syd stood before her, utterly naked. "That's more like it," she said. "Now, relax. Breathe. Feel the night."
Nora wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight. Her body was a furnace, radiating heat and passion; her hair was wild and tangled, smoke-scented. Syd began to shiver, as much from excitement as from the frigid air. His teeth chattered. Nora began to massage him, her fingers tracing patterns across the surface of his skin.
"You've got so much bound up inside," she said softly. "It's keeping you trapped. There's a whole world around you that you're not even seeing, Syd," she said softly.
"You need to see it."
She kissed him again, punctuating the message. Nora reached down, came up with a small glass vial.
"What's that?" he asked.
"Trust me," she said.
She uncapped it, poured a dollop of dark liquid onto his chest. Syd was instantly struck by the thick, sharp aroma of scented oil. It was at once bittersweet, earthy and biting, like chlorophyll with teeth. "This'll warm you up," she said.
She was right about that: as it touched him, Syd felt his skin flush, tingling. She chased the rivulets down his belly with her fingers, smearing it on his torso, across his throat, down to his groin. It burned there, in glaring contrast to the night air. Syd gasped, felt his penis burgeon, throbbing. She poured some onto the crown of his head, and his brain started broadcasting test patterns.
She dropped the vial then and began rubbing against him, and Syd felt their flesh merge, her heat transferring to him. The smell of Nora mingled with the oil, became one swirling sensation. It filled his nostrils, dizzying. His head felt feather-light, his inner ear rumbling with the sound of his own roaring blood . . .
. . . and for the second time in as many nights he felt that sudden rush of acute clarity: a fierce, almost cellular awareness of her presence, the astonishing sensitivity she aroused in him. The awareness extended to his surroundings: as he gazed out into the night the forest took on added dimensions, his vision perceiving newly-visible layers upon layers of shadow, etched in purple and blue-gray and black. The cold felt suddenly bracing, exciting.
Nora stopped then, looked off into the foliage. "C'mon," she whispered. She took his hand, started to move away from the tree. Syd stiffened, suddenly reluctant. Sex was one thing; naked with her like this, he could be anywhere, they could be humping on the White House lawn and he wouldn't care. But wandering through the woods . . .
"Where are we going?" he asked, tightening up again.
"Out there," she said simply.
"What about our clothes?"
"What about 'em?" she replied. "They ain't going anywhere."
"But we can't just run around naked."
"Yeah?" she said. "Why not?"
"What if someone comes?"
"Yeah, boy, that would be terrible," she chided, then clucked her tongue reprovingly. "That's some wild streak you got there, Syd."
Nora broke contact then, stepped away; as Syd watched she melded into the shadows, her silhouette blue-lit, ethereal. His clothing lay heaped beside him, a freshly shed skin. He looked at her, playful and wanton, and more than anything in the world he wanted to have her, right there, on the ground, now.
"You'll have to catch me first," she said, rea
ding his mind.
Syd pushed off from the tree, moving toward her. Nora darted out of reach, surprisingly nimble and quick. Syd took two steps forward, immediately landed his bare foot on a bramble.
"Shit!" he yelped. He stumbled back, hopping, and his other foot stomped on a small round stone. "Ow! Fuck!"
He lurched to the side, impaled his ass on a sharp stick and toppled backward, landing flat on his can in the dirt.
"GodDAMMIT!"
Laughter rang out from the darkness.
"Oh, very funny!" he called out. He stood, brushing dirt and pine needles off his butt. Syd looked over to his clothes, thought about getting dressed, or at least putting his boots on.
That's some wild streak you got. . . .
Her words echoed back, caustically precise. She knew how to push his buttons, all right. Even when he knew she was pushing them. It awakened a competitive impulse in him in spite of himself, made Syd want to play this game on her terms, and win. To prove something to her, and to himself in the bargain.
Just off to his left the bushes rustled, and Syd caught a fleeting glimpse of flesh. By the time he turned, she was gone. Syd grew quiet, began moving very carefully: toes digging into the moist earth, trying to anticipate his every next move.
He took three steps, harpooned himself again.
"Ow!" Syd leapt back, lost his balance and banged his knee on a rock. "Ow! Ow!" The resulting bumbling tap dance landed him facedown in the dirt, picking leaves from his teeth. As he sat up, something whizzed through the air, struck him in the back of the head. Syd yelped, whirled, looked.
A pine cone.
Somewhere off to his right, Nora snickered.
"You bitch," he grumbled.
Syd picked more brambles from his heels, then hunkered down and rethought his strategy. He was going about this all wrong, trying to think his way through the woods. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, taking in the night.
The wind shifted, brought with it dozens of subtle gradations of scent, sweet pine and ripe mulch and rich earth. Syd began moving intuitively, relying more on inner sense to guide him. As he did he realized that every molecule of his body felt energized, alive, a billion tiny sensors embedded in his exposed skin.
Something small stirred and skittered in the underbrush. A twig snapped, some thirty feet dead ahead. He stopped, waiting. Another crackle, maybe three yards farther to the left. Something was moving; it was larger, Nora-sized. Syd crouched, began tracking with it, no longer thinking in terms of point A to point B, but instead seeking the natural trails that abounded. As he did the environment seemed to transform around him, become less hostile. There was no path to speak of, yet one revealed itself with every step, his mind and body focusing down, becoming attuned to the sound of her movement and the flow of the land.
He paced her for several minutes, moving silently, weaving closer. And as he hunted her Syd was amazed at how good it felt, how liberating it was to roam free through this natural world. His mind felt clear for the first time in ages, unburdened by the baggage of his life, and he marveled that he'd never thought to do it before.
She was just ahead of him. Twenty feet now, maybe less. Up ahead there came a soft burbling sound, richly musical in timbre, suddenly audible under the riffling wind. He hadn't noticed it before, recognized it instantly: the sound of a running stream, trickling down the mountain. Nora was making her way toward it. Syd moved off to the side, flanking her. He would sneak up, catch her at the water's edge, make love to her there.
A dozen paces farther he caught his first shimmering glimpse of the stream. It was shallow and rocky, the stars overhead refracting across its rippling surface; he looked up and saw the sky ablaze through the trees, a billion pulsing diamonds set in satin oblivion, presided over by the radiant moon.
Something moved, not ten feet to his left. Syd froze in his tracks. She was trying to sneak up on him. He crouched down, ducking behind some brittle weeds, readied himself to pounce . . .
. . . and then stopped, suddenly wary. As his hackles raised, set off a thousand tiny alarms. . . .
Because something was wrong, completely wrong. In the way the tall grass crackled and parted around it; the way the woods went deathly silent in its wake.
In the way it moved, on two feet too many.
He listened, confused. And then his heart squeezed tight, a bloody fist in his chest, as the realization blossomed klieg light-bright in his skull. Every hair on his body went rigid, erect.
Something was lumbering through the brush. Something huge, hulking. He heard its breath, ragged and panting, as it broke through to the water's edge, began lapping thirstily. The wind shifted, and Syd caught a whiff of dank, matted fur.
Oh god. Images of the wolf came crashing back, flooding his senses. Oh god. He backed up, almost stumbled, catching himself. Syd could not see it from where he stood. He prayed it could not see him.
The creature stopped drinking, shook massive jowls, stood dripping and silent, the image horribly clear in his mind's eye. Syd unconsciously synced his breathing with its own, trying to mask the sound of his life. Terror blossomed and grew, billowing through his soul. He realized that he had no idea where she was, no way to warn her. He had to get away undetected, find her somehow. . . .
The wind died down, shifted, came back at Syd's back. As it gusted he felt his sweat go chill, making his teeth chatter again. The wind blew on, oblivious, carrying particles of his scent with it.
Blowing toward the stream. Toward the beast.
Oh shit, Syd thought. Oh shit oh shit oh shit . . .
Ten feet away, a low growl sounded.
And that was it; Syd's sudden oneness with nature went flying out the proverbial window as he took off, desperately trying to escape.
The woods reverted instantly: turning on him in the blink of an eye, becoming an endless implacable barrier. Roots and rocks rose up to trip him; branches clawed at his flesh; trees loomed and threw themselves in his path. Syd glanced back, caught a flash of feral eyes, heard the sound of massive limbs, tracking him off to the right.
He could feel it bearing down on him, thought crazily of the tire iron in the trunk of his car, his car that was parked in a distant galaxy, the car he'd never see again. I'm not afraid, he tried to tell himself, fooling no one. He was scared out of his mind, a mind that was already filled to brimming with grisly images: the shock of its stinking bulk slamming into his back, the hideous razored rending as its murderous teeth closed on his throat. Syd scrambled, veering off the path, plowing through a thicket, adrenaline obliterating the pain.
It was almost upon him. Syd vaulted over a fallen tree, landed badly, his left foot striking a root and throwing him off-balance. Syd screeched and toppled, landing painfully on his shoulder.
And he knew in that instant that there was no way to escape, nothing to do but die, or die fighting. His mind shrieked and spun. Syd scrabbled to his feet, grabbed a chunk of branch the size of his forearm from the ground. It was solid enough, with a three-inch spike of jagged limb protruding from one end, a primitive war club. Syd raised it high as he braced himself, then turned to face his attacker: the fear focused to one point, let loose in a wild, primal cry. . . .
Nothing happened.
There was no moment of sickening impact. No flash of slavering jaws. No Wild Kingdom battle-to-the-death. There was just an elongated nightmare moment as Syd stood, trembling, locked in a lethal last-stand stance. Ready to kill the next thing that moved.
But there was nothing chasing him.
Nothing chasing him at all.
"SYD?" Nora's voice, calling from the darkness. "SYD!"
"NORA! GET AWAY!!"
Something cracked behind him; Syd screeched and did a frantic pirouette.
It was Nora, stepping from the darkness. She approached, her voice tense, wary. "Syd, are you okay?"
"There's something out there," he said, searching the shadows, the club still tight in his hand. "Something was after me."
She peered in the direction he pointed. "Well," she said. "Whatever it was, it's gone now."
Again, that unmistakable amusement. It poured fuel on his flayed and burning nerves, left him agitated, incensed. There was nowhere to focus the anger, no one to train it on but her.
"What's the matter with you?" he cried, pulling away, glaring. "Are you fucking deaf? Didn't you hear it??"
Nora remained unfazed. "All I heard was you, running around and screaming like a maniac."
"IT WAS OUT THERE!!"
Nora said nothing, let the evidence speak for itself. Syd stood panting for a few moments more, before it became clear that she was right. It was gone now. His adrenaline eased off by degrees, leaving a profound exhaustion in its wake.
Nora stepped closer, put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched. "Shit, Syd, you're bleeding," she said. "Here, put that thing down and let's get out of here." She went to take the club, found Syd would not release it, his hand still humming with unspent survival instinct.
It took her almost a minute to get him to drop it; the moment he did, it was as though the remainder of his strength leeched away. Syd deflated into her, suddenly woozy, hollow, fragile as a reed.
"It was out there," he insisted. "It was right behind me.
Nora nodded, neither believing nor disbelieving, but merely accepting his experience. She slipped a supportive arm around him, buoying his sagging bulk.
"C'mon," she said. "Let's get you home."
16
HE REMEMBERED VERY little of what followed next: fragmented images, bits of experience.
They arrived back at his place sometime around three A.M. Nora had driven, Syd being in no condition. He remembered being helped up the stairs; led to the bathroom. He remembered the shower, mud and blood swirling together, brown spirals curling down the drain. He remembered her warm hands helping him into the bed, tucking him in tight because he honest to god didn't have the strength to pull the blanket up himself.
He remembered asking if she was coming to bed with him, her replying that she'd be there soon.
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