Savage Woods

by Mary SanGiovanni

  She fought the urge to laugh at the mental image of the two of them strung up with cartoon slabs of meat. It would have sounded nuts, even to her. Was she nuts? Did she feel crazy? She didn’t think so . . . but she wasn’t sure what crazy felt like, if it felt like anything at all.

  It occurred to her that if either of them really were insane, the forest probably wouldn’t have been trying so hard to mess with them. It wouldn’t need to break what was already broken. So maybe they were still okay, both of them. Or . . . were the things they were seeing just misfires of broken minds? Her headache was starting to return.

  Julia took a deep breath to clear the thoughts from her head. It was getting hard to think things through; she supposed that was a result of having been in Nilhollow so long. The forest wanted her confused, preoccupied with a frustrating loop of doubt and paranoia, but she wasn’t going to let go like that. If she had learned anything since getting lost, it was that any chance for survival involved keeping whatever wits she happened to have, just like her little purse. She had to remain focused. She had to prioritize, just like she had before—take things step by step, solve one obstacle at a time. She wanted to believe Pete was on her side, and right now, he had given her no real reason to be afraid of him. So she’d just watch him, the way he was probably watching her. She’d be ready. And whatever crazy she had been exposed to, whatever crazy might be inside her like a germ, she was going to do her best to fight it. She was going to get out of here with Pete. She found, to her surprise, that imagining doing things with Pete, once free of the forest, things like going out to dinner, maybe, or catching a movie, gave her a warm, happy feeling. She wondered if it served as a reason for Pete, too—if he ever thought about taking her out. Spending time with him, like on a real date and not just a car ride to the police station to file another report or grabbing a cup of coffee at that little coffee shop near the police station, seemed to her a damned good reason to keep going.

  Other reasons to make it out of there began to take shape as the two trudged along in silence. The reasons surprised her in the intensity with which she felt them. For instance, just then she really wanted it to matter to somebody that she made it out of those woods. More than that, though, she found that it really did matter to her. It was a kind of revelation to her that the woman she was trying to save was someone she could like and admire and want to save. She supposed with Darren, it had been a long time since she’d felt any sense of pride in her own abilities. She certainly recognized that she both wanted and needed Pete’s help, but she also felt a certain sense of pride in having kept herself alive for as long as she had, given the woods she’d been lost in. She wanted to feel she had a part in her own escape from the woods, as well. Now more than ever, she needed to know for her own sense of being that she could trust and rely on herself—not just to prove Darren and her parents wrong, but to prove her old inner critic wrong, too. She was worth saving, whether by her own hand or someone else’s. And realizing that felt pretty damned good, despite everything else going on. She just wanted the chance to explore that new philosophy, to utilize it, and build a better life around it than she had lived so far.

  “Uh, Julia,” Pete said, clearing his throat, “I, uh, I know this is, like, a weird time to bring this up . . . like a really weird time. But, um, I just wanted . . . well, just wanted to ask if you—” He stopped midsentence. His flashlight was flickering along the way in front of them, and she saw it a moment after he did. It was little more than a long smear of dirt devoid of grass, pine needles, and leaves, something deliberate but crude in its layout. Still, it was there all right, snaking around trees and only disappearing once it crested a small hill up ahead.

  “A path,” Julia whispered. “Oh my God. I haven’t seen a path since I first got lost. Maybe it goes back to the road?” She wanted to be excited, but the feeling caught in her chest. If it was another trick of the forest, she didn’t think she’d be able to find the strength to start over again.

  “Maybe,” he said, and she could hear the same guarded hope in his voice. “I sure as hell hope so.”

  “Pete . . . what are those?” She pointed at the marks that the flashlight beam caught and defined. They looked like gouges and furrows, but ran in all different directions, as if something put up a hell of a kicking fuss but only in the dirt of the path.

  “Uh . . .” Pete steered them closer to take a look. He shined the flashlight down on the marks. “Marks of a struggle, maybe,” he replied. He shined the light around them, ostensibly looking for some indication as to what might have made those marks. “Or maybe they mean a search party. Looks like a lot of scuff marks for just one pair of shoes.”

  “So . . . that’s a good sign, right? It means people are coming to look for us?”

  “It would appear that way. If that’s what those marks are, I mean. They could be animal tracks, too, but I doubt that. They look more like something was uprooted and just . . .” He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to.

  “Should we follow the path?” Julia wasn’t quite ready to let go of the hope the path suggested. Maybe they were near the road. Maybe all this was so close to being over.

  He looked up at her. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

  She thought about it a moment, then said, “I think we should give it a try. I mean, we can’t get any more lost than we are right now, right?”

  “Good point,” he agreed.

  He steadied her, looping his arm around her to support her as she hobbled along. Her jittering movements made the little flashlight beam jump. Together, they made slow progress. Even with Pete’s flashlight, it was hard to see anything beyond a few feet in front of them. Pockets of shadows loomed, swelled, and burst, casting jagged, sinister shapes against the tree trunks, which made it hard to determine where to walk and where to duck or dodge. Stranger still was that to Julia, it looked like the darkness in the part of the forest ahead of them was lighter somehow, but thicker and harder to wade through and breathe in. It was a kind of chalky gray-black, a simple absence of light mixed with substance to somehow make it tangible.

  All around them, the forest was breathing, moving, stretching, reshaping itself. She couldn’t see it, but she knew it. The more time she spent in Nilhollow, the more she felt she understood how very much alive it was, and how its feelings manifested. As they moved along the path, she had to force the muscles in her shoulders to relax a little. Every sound, however small, sent her head turning. She was waiting for what the forest was going to throw at them next. It was gearing up for something, maybe like what she had dreamed about. The illusions were getting worse—meaner, scarier, more monstrous. Maybe it wasn’t going to be another illusion at all; maybe the trees themselves would spear them with sharp branches, or open up warrens and dens and release flesh-eating beasts. Or maybe her mind and body would simply collapse from exhaustion in her anticipation.

  Deep down, she believed that what she was feeling were actually the tree-creatures Pete had mentioned. Maybe just as they seemed able to sense her and know her thoughts and feelings, she could feel them, too. At the very least, she thought she could feel whatever force was driving their behavior.

  She was about to voice some of her thoughts to Pete to get his opinion when she realized why the dark looked so thick and gray. A misty, whitish fog had begun to roll toward them from between and beyond the trees. It moved quickly, its fingers grazing their skin all over with a chill dampness as it surrounded them. She watched it swirl and dance with its own surreal kind of grace, adding to the impression of movement throughout the spaces between the trees.

  Sometimes a wispy bit of fog would obscure everything, and then a moment later, it would shift and a tree trunk would be inches, even feet closer than it had before. It broke the mesmerizing spell of the fog’s movement and set her on edge again.

  “Dammit,” Pete whispered. “Can’t see the path too well. Wait—I think we’re off course, somehow, if that tree is the same one I think it
is.”

  “It’s okay,” she whispered back. “Let’s keep going.”

  There was a pause in which she could hear him breathing, then, “Really? Do . . . do you—”

  “I don’t think we have much of a choice,” she said. “It’s spreading everywhere. We can’t go back. I can’t go back.”

  “Um, okay. Okay then. Just make sure you hold on to my arm. I don’t want to lose you in this.”

  She nodded even though he couldn’t see her, and clutched his arm tighter. They moved even more slowly now, feeling the way with their feet. That was fine with her as far as her ankle went, as it was getting difficult to put anything but the slightest pressure on that foot.

  However, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the trees were creeping up on her in the fog. It reminded her of an old game from her childhood, where one person closed his or her eyes, and in the space of time it took to turn around and face the others, they would have to get as close as possible without their movement being seen. She felt like she and Pete were closing their eyes and counting—red light, green light, one, two, three! She fought the urge to turn around and see what had gained ground behind her.

  A swath of fog curled away and a low branch swung out in front of her face. She flinched, ducking under it, and wondered how Pete, who was walking almost in front of her, had managed to avoid it. The trees, apparently, were gaining ground all around her.

  “Are we still on the path?” she asked.

  “I think so,” Pete answered. “Sometimes when the fog clears, the flashlight catches the grooves in the path and they kind of shine a little. I don’t know why that is, but it helps. I think we’re still heading in the right direction. Well, we’re heading in the same direction, at least. I think.” He flinched just slightly and glanced behind him. Maybe he felt the trees closing ranks, too.

  Red light green light one two three. She could just about feel their branch-fingers skimming her shoulder.

  He shined his flashlight up ahead, but it only bounced off the fog, making it harder to see.

  Swaths of white drifted across their path, sometimes thin enough to grasp the basic shapes of the tall grasses, trees, and bushes, and sometimes so thick that all she could see were moving outlines.

  It was one of those moving outlines, developing details as the fog thinned again, that made her gasp. It was coming toward them out of the fog, moving slowly but steadily. It had only one light rather than two glinting animal eyes, and was the same color as Pete’s flashlight.

  “Pete!” She tugged his arm.

  “I see it,” he whispered.

  As the figure got closer, they could see it was tall and somewhat grizzled, carrying a large backpack and a small police-issued flashlight. He looked solid to her, more real than the encompassing trees. She didn’t know if that should be a relief, or a reason to panic. She chose to take it as the former.

  “Who is it?”

  “Not sure,” he answered. “If he was a search party member, he wouldn’t be alone.”

  Pete’s body tensed and his arm slipped away so that he could position himself in front of her to protect her as he studied the figure. “Wait,” he said. “Holy shit, I think that’s—”

  “Grainger?” the figure shouted. “Thank God. Are you okay? Is that Ms. Russo with you?”

  The speaker moved into the flashlight glow, and Pete gave a relieved little laugh. The figure who had emerged from the fog was an older man, graying a little in his otherwise brown hair and along his unshaven jaw. He was somewhat stocky, the kind of body used to rough activities at one time, with a hard but handsome face and kind but sharply alert eyes.

  “Oh my God. Is that really you?” Pete’s body relaxed a little, and he led her closer.

  It took a moment, but then Julia recognized the man as well. It was Captain Stan Mallon, Pete’s boss. When the captain reached out to clap Pete on the shoulder, she saw Pete flinch; he was probably wondering if Captain Mallon was real or another trick of the forest. Julia knew better, though. She knew he was real the same way Pete had been real. For one thing, she had noticed that the illusions never touched them. She believed they very well could, but they didn’t, and she thought that was because if they did, their masks would slip and she’d be able to see what was really underneath. There was always something inhuman about them, slightly less tangible than the rest of reality. There was always an earthy smell about them and stiff, wooden movements that set them apart from what they tried to pretend to be. They might have been pretty good at mimicking, but she didn’t think they could pretend too long or too well up close.

  Apparently Pete didn’t, either, because the physical gesture put him at ease, and he shook Mallon’s free hand.

  “Wow, how did you find us?”

  Mallon shrugged. “I think you found me, actually. Are either of you hurt? Debrief me.”

  “Julia has a sprained ankle and is hungry and a little dehydrated,” Pete replied, “but otherwise, we’re holding up okay, I’d say.”

  “Okay. We’ll get her to a hospital when we get out of here. What about Perry?”

  Pete’s expression fell. “He’s . . . gone.”

  “Gone as in lost?”

  With great effort, Pete shook his head. “Gone as in killed.”

  Mallon studied him with an expression that wasn’t quite skeptical, but rather, curious. “Killed how?” he asked.

  Even in the dim glow of the flashlight, Julia could see Pete choke up. “The stories about this place are true. There are . . . things here in this forest. Deadly things. They move fast and they’re strong. Too strong. Several of them jumped Perry. I tried to help, but I couldn’t. And yeah, I know it sounds crazy, but I swear to you, it’s true. You have to believe me.”

  “I do,” Mallon said, unzipping the backpack. He opened it just enough for them to see a battery-powered chainsaw and a blowtorch, as well as some papers, a few lighters, and other odds and ends. “Now look. I don’t know what all you two have seen out here, and frankly, I don’t think we have time now for you to explain. I don’t claim to have the foggiest idea what you’ve been through. But I now this place is deadly. And a little research as well as a little personal experience has led me to be a damn sight open-minded about whatever people tell me is out here. I suspect we’ve only just experienced the tip of the iceberg, in fact.”

  Pete brightened a little. “So . . . you believe me about the things out here?”

  Captain Mallon offered a tight smile as he zipped up the backpack. “They’re elementals, I’m told. Nature spirits connected to the trees. But they’re only part of the problem. Something called the Turning of the Earth, some sentient force of destruction and chaos, is driving those spirits, as well as anyone caught up in these woods for too long, pretty much bat-shit crazy. How’m I doing?”

  Pete looked as if he could hug Captain Mallon. Julia felt so relieved that the tension in her face dissipated and condensed to form tears.

  “Couldn’t have explained it better myself,” Pete said. “But how did you know? And how did you know we were in trouble?”

  This time, Captain Mallon’s grin was a little less grim. “These high-powered perceptions and refined detecting skills are why they pay me the big bucks.”

  Pete laughed. It was good, Julia thought, to hear him laugh. “So, what’s the plan, Captain? We’ve been wandering around here for hours. We can’t find the way out.”

  “No,” Captain Mallon said. “That seems to be by deliberate design. If my research—or, to be more accurate, an old friend’s research—is accurate, then I doubt we’ll be able to, until we kill it.”

  “Kill what?” Julia asked.

  “Possibly those tree spirits. More effective, though, would be the killing of whatever this Turning is. To do that, we’ll burn this whole forest down to the ground if we have to. But we might not. I think if we can just find the heart of this place and cut it out, a good portion of the madness infecting these woods and everyone in them will run it
s course, like a fever.”

  “The heart,” Julia murmured. “You mean the chasm?”

  “The what now? You—you know about the chasm?”

  “Oh, uh . . . not really. I mean, I’ve seen it, yes,” she said, gesturing. “I’ve been there. It’s the most awful thing I’ve ever experienced. The things it shows you in your head . . .” She shivered.

  “You’ve seen it?” Captain Mallon studied her intently. “The actual chasm?”

  She nodded. “Yes, sir, I have. It’s in a clearing full of dead plants. Well, not dead, but not really alive, either. It makes so much sense now that the chasm is where all this is coming from. It’s just oozing madness and hatred and violence. It floods your whole body when you’re nearby. It was terrible.”

  Captain Mallon’s voice softened. “I can tell that this place affected you profoundly. But it is very important that we get to this chasm. I think I can close it or at least plug it up permanently, but I need to know where it is. Do you think you could find it again?”

  She thought about it a moment, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. Even if I could face the idea of going back, which I don’t think I can, I’d never be able to find it again. One of the things I’ve noticed about this forest is that every time you’re sure you’re heading in the right direction, it rearranges itself so that you’re lost again. The way that I found it the last time would be impossible to retrace. I’m sorry, Captain.”