The Truth Circle

by Cameron Ayers

  Gaby cocked an eyebrow.

  “By which you mean you?” she asked.

  “Who better to lead than the CEO of a multinational brokerage with over 75 employees?”

  “We don’t need your resume, thank you,” Gaby replied curtly.

  “But you do need my guidance,” Ken answered before pausing to deliver a maxim. “‘Some are born to lead, others are born to follow.’”

  “More words of near-wisdom from dear old dad?” Gaby replied cuttingly.

  “Don’t take it personally,” Ken said. “Only a select few are meant for it. And those of us who are have an obligation to seize the mantle.”

  “That doesn’t sound like leadership to me,” Lamar mumbled.

  Ken reached the top of the hill. It offered a decent view of the surrounding plain, towering as it did two stories over everything else. It revealed that the floodplain had a gradual north-to-south slope as it fed into a valley dense with trees in the distance. While waist-high overgrowth on the other side of the tree obscured what was immediately in front of them, beyond it they could see a rocky path far below, meaning the drop-off just behind the overgrowth must have been fairly steep.

  He proudly pointed to the path, which looked to be the same one they followed down to the creek.

  “Like I told you: some are born to lead,” Ken said smugly as he started toward the overgrowth with a newfound swell of confidence.

  Gaby, who was just behind him, looked carefully at the overgrowth and rushed forward to stop him.

  “Ken, wait!” she fairly shouted, holding her arm out in front of him before pointing it downward. Ken leaned forward and peered over the curtain of brush. He could see that this side of the hill wasn’t a hill at all. It was an overlook, hiding a precipitous 20-foot drop to the rocky path below.

  “You’re about to lead us off the edge of a cliff,” Gaby cautioned before motioning for the others to follow her to the right, where the hill offered a much safer path downward.

  By the time they reached the rocky trail below, the sound of rushing water was significantly louder. They were close. They found their way into a clearing and were suddenly by the water’s edge. This section of the creek looked different from the one they’d seen yesterday; it was narrower, with pebbled shoals that forced the water through a narrow channel that cut sharply to the right as it flowed downhill. There was minimal vegetation on the opposite bank.

  “I think we’re just south of where John took us,” Lamar said, trying to get his bearings. “If we follow the creek north, we should find the spot.”

  Sure enough, 100 yards up they found what looked like the same section of the river that John had shown them. The creek was wider, the water clearer, and the eastern bank hosted a rocky path leading back to camp, the same one they’d spied from the top of the overlook.

  “This is it,” Lamar said, spotting the muddy indentation of their footprints on the eastern bank. “We were standing over there.”

  Gaby walked ahead of them and knelt beside the small collecting pool where John had deposited the cooler. She peered into the pool’s murky depths.

  “Well?” Ken asked impatiently.

  “I don’t see anything,” Gaby said, confused. She got down on one knee and started fishing around in the icy water, in case silt had covered the coolers. “There’s nothing in here.”

  “You sure this is the right spot?” Ken asked searchingly as Lamar examined a fallen tree branch on the eastern bank. “Maybe those aren’t our footprints.”

  In answer, Lamar moved the branch to reveal part of a metal cleat embedded in the ground, in the same location that John had shown them yesterday.

  “Where are the tethers?” Ken asked.

  Lamar lifted the branch higher to reveal the nylon cords, still tied to the cleat. Each of them had been severed several inches below the knot, their frayed ends dangling loose.

  “Oh, fuck me!” Ken said with a sharp intake of breath. “He took the food! That crazy old fuck stole all our food!”

  Gaby held her hand to her mouth in dismay.

  “It … it can’t be,” she stammered, blinking back tears. “This has to be a mistake.”

  “The only mistake,” Ken fumed, “was coming to this stupid fucking forest in the first goddamn place!”

  Ken started swinging wildly in the air, screaming every invective he could think of and inventing a few new ones for good measure. He picked up the largest rocks he could find on the bank and started hurling them at the water in a blind rage.

  “I hate this fucking place! Every rock and every … God … damn … tree!” he shouted, picking up a heavy branch and smashing it against the side of a nearby walnut tree.

  While Ken vented, Gaby fell to her knees, overcome by shock and despair. Only Lamar kept his composure; the shame of having lost it not an hour ago was still fresh in his mind.

  “Let’s just keep calm and focus,” he said, though his quavering voice belied the reassuring message.

  “Focus?” Ken screamed as he rounded on Lamar. “Focus on starvation, you blubbery beta-bitch! Focus on dying to the elements! Got any more brilliant suggestions?”

  “This, uhmm, wasn’t my fault,” Lamar said, taken aback by Ken’s misplaced fury. “I didn’t take the food.”

  Ken wasn’t listening, anyway. He’d already moved on to raging against their guide as he vented his fury on every inanimate object nearby. He seized on a branch the size of a switch — the only unthrown object nearby — and hurled it at a small maple tree by the water’s edge, which sent it ricocheting into the back of Gaby’s head.

  All of Ken’s rage immediately dissipated. He ran over to check on Gaby, who seemed more annoyed than injured.

  “¡Pinche pendejo!” she exclaimed, rubbing her head. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Oh, shit!” Ken exclaimed, crouching down beside her. “I didn’t mean to! I was angry and I just lost it. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Gaby insisted, standing up and flashing Ken a dirty look.

  She turned to walk back toward camp, pivoting on her right foot, only to feel it give way on a stone still slick with creek spray from Ken’s earlier temper tantrum. Gaby lurched forward in free fall, watching helplessly as the rocky ground rushed to meet her.

  Ken reached out and caught her by the waist, leaning forward and pulling Gaby toward him to help absorb some of the forward momentum. Gaby found herself leaning back, her feet barely touching the ground, while Ken held her in his arms, his face hovering six inches from hers. Had someone walked up at that moment, they would have thought the two were in a passionate embrace.

  Gaby looked up at him, still in a daze. But as she got her bearings, instead of looking relieved, Gaby’s eyes started to go wide with fright.

  “Lucky I was here,” Ken said, the relief evident in his voice. “If I hadn’t caught you …”

  A piercing, almost inhuman wail escaped Gaby’s lips.

  “Let me go, let me go, let me go, LET ME GO!!!” Gaby shrieked, flailing like mad, her eyes wild with fear.

  Ken immediately loosened his grip and pulled his hands back to his chest, stunned at this irrational display.

  Gaby pushed Ken away, scurrying back several feet into a defensive posture. Her eyes flitted back and forth between a slack-jawed Ken and an equally perplexed Lamar, watching the pair warily, like a cornered animal looking to escape.

  “Don’t touch me!” she shrieked at the pair. “Don’t ever touch me again!”

  She turned toward the path back to camp and ran off crying.

  “What … the … fuck?” Lamar mouthed silently as he watched her flee.

  Ken’s shock faded faster and was rapidly replaced with raw indignation.

  “Excuse me for saving your sorry butt, Taco Bella!” he called after her, cupping his hands to his mouth. “Next time, I’ll let you fall right on your face!”

  He looked at Lamar for affirmation.

  “Is everyone here off their meds?” he asked.
“First Wade, then Beverly and now her. You’d think there was something in the water.”

  “Did you do anything to set her off?” Lamar asked, trying to make sense of what they’d just witnessed.

  “Yeah, I saved her from a face-plant!” Ken seethed. “What kind of question is that? You saw what happened.”

  “You didn’t pinch her behind when you were holding her?” Lamar probed.

  “Unbelievable,” Ken fumed. “I save somebody, and as thanks, she screams at me and now you accuse me of copping a feel. Fuck this and fuck you all!”

  Ken scanned the creek for the narrowest point and found it two yards up. He walked over and started fording the water, wading thigh deep as he crossed.

  “What are you doing?” Lamar asked.

  “What I should have done at first light: leaving,” Ken shouted back in reply without bothering to look over his shoulder.

  “Are you coming back?”

  Ken paused to shake out his pants legs as he reached the other bank.

  “Not if I find a way out,” Ken called out.

  “I thought you wanted to be in charge. What kind of leader abandons his team?” Lamar shot back.

  “In this case, a smart one,” Ken responded, holding up his middle finger behind him for emphasis as he left the opposite bank and disappeared into the forest.

  Lamar shook his head in disgust and started up the rocky trail back to camp.

  As he walked he realized that for the first time since coming to Quehanna that he was completely alone. It was an eerie feeling. Coming from a large and noisy family, Lamar was accustomed to the peripheral din of people all around, even if he wasn’t comfortable interacting with them. Now the only noises he heard belonged to the forest. It was unsettling, this sense of total isolation.

  As he approached the thicket at the end of the rocky trail, he realized he heard a new sound: panting. The thicket started rustling and Coop burst out from the other side, out of breath with his glasses askew. He spotted Lamar and immediately rushed to his side. Up close, Coop was drenched in sweat and took lungfuls of air in heaping gulps as though he’d run all the way here.

  “Gaby said I’d find you here,” Coop said between ragged breaths. “We have a problem.”

  * * * * * *

  The sun was directly overhead when Ken noticed the slopes of the valley starting to turn upward again, indicating he’d reached the western edge of the floodplain. The dark, earthy soil he’d seen for much of his trek over the past two hours had turned sandy and granulated. Much of the land around him was bare except for wild grasses and the occasional uprooted tree. He also noticed an uptick in wildlife. He took all of these as signs that he was nearing a major water source.

  He followed a natural channel upward as it cut up and back a slope at the base of a double-humped hill leading out of the floodplain. He had stripped off his leather jacket over an hour ago as the temperature started to climb and spent the rest of the trip with it folded over his arm. But now that the path westward was growing steeper, he tied it around his waist to free his hands for climbing.

  Ken made for the larger hump to the southwest, reasoning that it was still an easier climb than the lower, southern-facing portion with its punishing verticality. The larger hump was still a daunting climb, not least because it towered some 15 stories above him, but the angle wasn’t nearly as steep, and there were plenty of trees and large rocks he could use as handholds on the way up. More importantly, he knew the surest way to get his bearings was to scout from the highest point in the region, and this was it.

  As he climbed, Ken fantasized about what he’d see when he reached the peak. A highway, a campfire in the distance, some backpacking tourists. He’d settle for anything that would get him out of here. Ken debated whether he’d even report the others as missing when he got out of here. Just thinking about them triggered him; he still seethed at Gaby’s meltdown earlier in the day. And to think that fat nerd had the nerve to blame him after Little Miss Green Card went Bitch Factor Five. Knowing her, it was probably something hormonal. Not that tubby would understand a lot about that.

  And then there was that psychopath Wade. Ken flashed back to when Wade had choked him to the brink of unconsciousness. The memory scared him more than it angered him. On second thought, he would report the others as missing, if only to ensure that Wade wound up in leg irons like he deserved.

  Ken was already starting to daydream about the trial — he’d point to Wade as the culprit, and Wade would go crazy, leaping up from his defense table and rampaging around the courtroom, forcing the bailiffs to use their tasers on him again, and again, and again, and again, until he was reduced to a quivering mass writhing on the floor in excruciating pain — when he paused to wipe the sweat from his brow and look up. He had been so preoccupied with his fantasies that he’d lost track of time. Some 30 minutes had passed, and he was nearly at the top. Ken paused to look back and saw the basin of the floodplain looming far below.

  The last section of the climb was the steepest, and Ken had to take it on all fours, anchoring himself with his hands and pushing off with his feet to propel himself forward. He finally reached the summit, breathing heavily and dripping with sweat. He pushed past a grouping of waist-high ferns at the top and stared in wonder at the view before him.

  To the south was an enormous lake; so large, in fact, that he couldn’t see the opposite bank, even from his elevated position. It was situated on a large plateau that extended to the south and the west, roughly 50 feet above the floodplain, with the lake extending almost to the edge. That explained the sparse vegetation and the sandy soil on this side of the plain; the lake likely overflowed its banks every spring, sending tens of thousands of gallons of snowmelt and rainwater into the plain each year.

  Much of the land to the west was covered by a dense canopy of trees, many of whose leaves had begun to turn seasonal shades of orange, red and brown. The tree coverage extended out of view to the north as well, although the tree density wasn’t as great due to the more rugged terrain, with many steep hills and crags.

  Ken sat down on the southern edge of the peak, whistling in admiration as he drank in the view. While he spent as much time as he could outdoors, he rarely stopped to appreciate nature. It was always about the activity, never the experience. But even he had to admit, the view of the lake from 12 stories up was breathtaking.

  He watched as several ducks paddled across the pond’s surface, then with a series of quacks launched themselves skyward to join a flying-V formation of ducks heading south for the winter. Their activity sent ripples pulsating across the lake, which caught the light overhead as they lapped against the shore. It was moment of pure serenity.

  As he watched the shadows of clouds bounce up and down the rolling hills to the west, he spied a fox along the shoreline, approaching the lake cautiously as it searched for a meal. Ken stared, fascinated as the fox sniffed the rocky shore by the lake’s edge and then followed its nose toward a thick clump of reeds. The fox studied the reeds intently for a few moments, wary of any predators hiding in them. After a few moments, it decided that whatever it smelled in there was worth the risk and start creeping toward the grasses. It hesitated again when it was within a couple of feet.

  Ken was beginning to wonder what could be in there that would be so enticing when the densest grouping of reeds suddenly sprang to life, rising up and spouting arms that drove a crude wooden spear through the bewildered creature’s neck before it could even react. The reeds stood up from their crouching strike, and Ken could see it was a man covered in dried mud with reeds sticking out of the front and back of his shirt.

  Ken had just enough time to wonder whether Quehanna was large enough to hide wild aborigines, like those found in the Amazon, before he noticed the man’s face was badly sunburned and peeling.

  Ken hastily left his exposed perch on the edge of the peak and ducked behind the ferns, hoping he hadn’t been spotted. He’d already seen how dangerous and unpredictable Wa
de could be in a group setting. Lord knows what he was capable of out here, with no one around. He kept his head down for several seconds before curiosity eventually overcame his sense of self-preservation and he bent back the ferns to watch.

  Wade was dancing around his kill, whooping and hollering and thrusting his spear over his head like a savage. Ken noticed that Wade’s cap was gone and he’d torn his shirt open at his chest, letting all the reeds lose. After a minute or two of celebration, Wade pulled out his hunting knife and carved a vertical line several inches long into his left breast. Ken winced at the sight. Even from his elevated perch, he could see the blood spilling out and mixing with the dried mud. He noticed two raised welts beside the cut, both vertical and about the same length. Ken surmised that each cut represented a different kill, like the duck from last night. As for the first cut, Ken preferred to remain in the dark. He didn’t want to know what — or who — Wade’s first kill was.

  Wade knelt down by the fox’s corpse and thrust his knife into it six inches below the spear wound. Ken raised his head up, straining to see from this angle.

  Wade had removed the knife and his hand was now in the incision. He gave a small grunt of exertion and withdrew his hand — now caked in both mud and blood — with something in his palm. Ken raised up a little higher to get a better view. It was the creature’s heart.

  Wade held the fox’s still dripping organ over his head, ceremonially, and slowly lowered it to his mouth. He took a couple of tentative bites before scarfing the remainder down, swallowing it nearly whole.

  Ken grimaced in revulsion but couldn’t bring himself to look away from the gruesome display. It was almost as if he was watching Wade devolve in real time. He thought back to John’s words yesterday about this experience being transformative, and how Wade’s transition was accelerated. Ken began to seriously question whether he would end up like Wade if he remained here.

  Wade was now removing the animal’s remaining organs, carelessly tossing them on the muddy banks of the lake. Ken figured this was as good a time as any to beat a stealthy retreat. He’d just made up his mind to head back east into the floodplain — north looked too rugged and he couldn’t risk going south or west because Wade might see him — when he started to feel something crawling up his pant leg.