In the Heart of the Dark Wood

by Billy Coffey

  And that’s what they were now, Allie thought. No doubt about it. Lost.

  At least they had water, Zach told her, and the rest of the food. Two candy bars were all that was left in her bag, but there was still plenty of tree bark. Zach said people could live a long while without much to eat but only a few days with nothing to drink, so hey, bright side. And the log the three of them had hidden behind made a pretty good place for a shelter. It’d be simple, what with all the pines and deadwood around.

  “Like walkin’ into an Ace Hardware,” he said. Loud and fast, as though he couldn’t contain his excitement. Allie knew elation had little to do with it. Zach’s teeth were chattering, and his eyes looked like two sunken saucers in his head. He was sick and he was scared. Allie didn’t know which of those worried her more.

  They built their home for the night together. Zach took care of the big stuff, lugging the thick trunk of another fallen tree and propping it against the highest part of the log. Piles of smaller branches as thick as his arms were next. Allie used his pocketknife to cut away as many pine boughs as she could. These she stacked next to the wood. Zach sent her out on a leaf-hunting expedition next.

  “I don’t want’em wet,” he said, “so don’t get any from the ground. There’s still plenty on the trees. After that, you can help me get some bark slabs.”

  The busyness helped settle them. Sam had stopped his shaking and was now sniffing at the ground, growling and huffing at what scents the stampede had left behind. There was no time for Allie and Zach to concern themselves with the cuts on their bodies or her freezing toes or the croup in his lungs. Such things were important, but set aside. What counted was their race against the encroaching dark. Allie thought if they had to sleep out in the open with the woods all silent and waiting, she might start screaming and never stop.

  Zach improved the more he took charge, though he often paused in his work to peer into the trees. He would remain that way for a few seconds—body still, eyes squinting—and then resume. Sam did the same, only more often. He’d lift his nose from the ground and perk his ears, turning on some sort of dog radar. Allie watched them both but said nothing. She’d seen them too.

  Shadows lurking. Crouched behind the trees and the fallen logs. Not regular shadows either, the sort that are everywhere come the end of day. No, these were darker in a way Allie could not describe—thicker in a way, more real. She would see them dancing from the corners of her eyes and turn, only to see that what she was really looking at was an old limb or a rock. But they weren’t, or at least they hadn’t been. They had been something else. Something mean.

  The materials were pronounced complete just as night settled. Zach began piecing the shelter together, laying the thinner limbs perpendicular to both sides of the log, then the larger ones. Half of the pine boughs went on next, followed by heavier limbs. The slabs of bark they’d pried from the most rotten trees went on last. The result turned out to be just what Allie hoped—a large green-and-brown hump in the middle of the woods that could easily be overlooked. Zach approved of his handiwork even if the irony of it was thick. He’d spent the entire day trying to get them found. Now all he wanted to do was keep them hidden.

  He pulled his coat sleeves down and crawled inside, scooping out what little snow remained. He called for the remaining slabs of bark, then the pile of mostly dry leaves, then finally all but four of the remaining boughs. Sam inched his way toward the entrance. Zach crawled out and took the last of the boughs, twisting them so they interlocked. He held them up to the moonlight.

  “Okay,” he said. “I think there’s room at the inn.”

  Allie went first. She lowered herself to her knees and shrugged off her pack, pushing it deep inside. Zach told her to crawl in feet first, as the shelter’s bottom end would probably be warmer. She shimmied herself in as deep as she could. Sam followed, though he didn’t seem sure if it was a good idea. Zach backed in when Allie and Sam were settled. He held the twisted clump of boughs in his hands and plugged the opening once inside.

  For the first time since losing the compass, Allie felt safe. The boughs felt soft and dry, the leaves like a mattress over the slabs of bark that kept the cold ground away. Everything felt warm and blessedly close. She thought it was how she must’ve felt all those years ago, back when she’d been in her momma’s belly.

  She couldn’t see Zach. The roof was so stuffed with branches and limbs that not even moonlight leaked through. But Allie felt him next to her, and that was enough.

  “This is amazing, Zach,” she whispered.

  “Daddy taught me how. Woulda made one for us last night, but we didn’t have no time.”

  “I think it’s the greatest thing ever. Even my feet feel better.”

  “Kick your shoes off if you can,” he said. “It’ll help get’m dry.”

  Allie curled into a half ball and reached back, trying to find her feet.

  “While you’re back there, you can get another candy bar and that last juice box. I’m starving, and we’ll need that sugar.”

  “Okay.”

  She fished out their supper—a Butterfinger and the last of the apple juice—and brought both back to the front. Sam sniffed and began whimpering. They ate in silence. If Zach blessed his food, he kept it to himself. It wasn’t much (and by now, Allie was cursing herself for packing what little food she did that morning at home, which felt like a billion years ago), but it was enough to make her feel better. Zach too.

  “I’m sorry I lost your compass,” Zach said. “I thought it was right. I was just trying to help.”

  Allie only lay there on her stomach, chin resting on a pillow of her own filthy hands, prying little bits of chocolate and peanut butter from her teeth. She was still mad. It was the worst sort of mad, too, the kind that had hurt and fear latched onto it. But a good-size part of her knew Zach was still mad at her in much the same way.

  “I’m sorry too,” she whispered. “You just gotta believe me about Momma, Zach. That’s all I want. We weren’t lost. Not back on that hill, anyways.”

  The silence Zach offered didn’t mean he doubted her. Then again, it didn’t mean he believed her either. He supposed they were even in that respect. In spite of his best efforts, Zach thought much of Allie’s trust in him had gone the way of the birds and beasts. Sam lay still between them. Allie felt the long breaths from his side push against her and heard the growling in his stomach. There was no way of knowing what they’d do the next day, but finding something more than a candy bar to eat had to top that list.

  “How’re you feeling?” she asked.

  “Tired. My face hurts from the birds.”

  It was the first either of them had mentioned what had happened. Allie thought it was kind of like the shadows that had spied on them just before—better not to talk about it, because you didn’t know where that talk would lead once you got started.

  “Think there’s a fire somewheres?” she asked. “Maybe that’s why they was all running away.”

  “We’d smell the smoke.”

  She heard him move. A hole opened up in the makeshift door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Something’s out there,” Zach said. “Thought I saw something in the trees.”

  “You think maybe it’s who put that sign up?”

  “No. I think whoever put up that sign’s long gone. Looked like a . . . I don’t know.”

  “A shadow?” she asked. “I seen them too. Thought it was my eyes playing tricks.”

  “Probably was,” Zach said, though he didn’t sound too sure of that at all.

  “Momma used to say the stuff you see in the woods outta the corners of your eyes are the fairies,” Allie said.

  Zach shook his head. “Ain’t no fairies. Allie, I ain’t ever seen animals do that before. Run away like that, all together. Birds too.”

  Allie lifted her chin from her hands and leaned forward, taking care not to disturb Sam’s sleep. She figured they were safe enough there in the
shelter, but all that disguising would mean nothing if her dog started barking. Zach used his fingers to make the hole in their front door bigger. Not much, just enough to let them see. The log in front of them blocked most of the view. Zach raised his head higher and straightened his arms, like he was about to do a push-up. Allie did the same. A narrow panorama of the night woods greeted her.

  Neither of them saw anything at first, nor was there any sound. It was as if they’d wandered into another world altogether, one with fuzzy edges and deep holes they couldn’t crawl out of. Allie felt Zach’s hand close around her shoulder. He squeezed and held his fingers there, digging through her jean jacket and sweatshirt, finding the bone. He whispered three words:

  “Past the pond.”

  Allie strained her eyes. Before, when they’d been nearly trampled by the wild things, her heart had thundered. Now she felt it slow. From the midst of the trees far on the other side of the pond was a single ball of light. It seemed to float as it wove its way through the forest, blinking in and out as it slowly danced past limbs and trunks. A mix of reds and whites and yellows, like a miniature setting sun in search of somewhere to rest for the night. To Allie, it was the same sort of glow given by the star atop the tree at home. There was no way for her to know the size of that light or how far they were from it, yet she felt a part of herself—a powerful, unyielding part—longing to race after it. Before she could, the ball winked and faded.

  “What was that, Zach?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Was it what chased those animals?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I was scared then, but I wasn’t just now. Were you?”

  Allie shook her head. When she realized Zach couldn’t see her, she said, “No. Not even some.”

  “Maybe it was an angel.”

  She shook her head again and rolled her eyes. “Ain’t no such thing.”

  Zach said nothing at first, then: “I seen an angel once. Long time ago, back when I was a kid. Remember when that bad man came to town? The one the newspaper called the devil? It was then. I couldn’t sleep one night, and I saw something out in the hallway. I got up to see what it was. I seen one.”

  “Now ain’t the time for story,” Allie said.

  “Ain’t no story. It’s the truth.”

  “What’d it look like?”

  “Like a boy,” Zach said. “He had blond hair and wore people clothes, but he shined like a light. Like that light. That’s how I knew he was an angel. Ghosts don’t shine. It’s science. They don’t talk, neither.”

  Allie looked at him. “It talked to you?”

  “He said Momma and Daddy had to go to the Holler. Past the rusty gate. He said it was a bad thing they had to do and it would be hard, and sometimes things were hard and bad because God has sharp edges. I didn’t know what that meant, and he didn’t say nothing else. I told Momma and Daddy later on. They went to the Holler like that angel said. Daddy, he found that bad man. Killed him with Bessie. Daddy never told me that, but I heard it. Daddy just said it was a hard thing he did. You think that’s why we’re stuck out here, Allie? Because God’s got sharp edges?”

  Allie looked out into the woods, thought she saw something, decided she didn’t.

  “I don’t know much about God no more, Zach. I used to, I guess, back before I got Him riled. I don’t know what I did or how, but it was bad enough to get Momma taken away. Then whatever I did got leaked all over Daddy, and now he’s fallen away too. If that’s how God wants it, then that’s fine. But I don’t guess He’s got sharp edges. I think God’s more like the moon, just sitting up there in the sky, watching what all’s going on. This is all just a TV show to Him. Sometimes the stuff He sees makes Him laugh, and sometimes that stuff makes Him cry, but He can’t do nothing about it noways. That’s why I don’t pray. Talking to God’s like my daddy talking to an old buried shoe in the cemetery or me talking to an old plastic statue that used to be in my front yard. You can yammer on all you want, but what’s there ain’t never gonna give you an answer. I figure it’s best to ignore Him. Maybe then, He’ll ignore me. God finds out Momma sent word, He’ll do all He can to stop me.”

  Such was what Allie came to believe after her mother left. She believed it now, even as she searched the woods outside their shelter for a light now gone and felt the smooth plastic band of her compass hugging her wrist like a phantom limb. She would find her momma, and that was no mere thought and no hopeful prayer. Because even if God was just like the moon, things had to end right. They just had to. It would be just like her daydream, finding Mary. She would be waiting for them and Sam would be jumping and Zach would be standing guard, and Allie would run into her momma’s arms.

  That was Allie’s last thought before sleep took her. She dreamed once more of a funeral. Her feet itched and the wind blew cold upon the graveside. Near a mound of fresh dirt stood a small casket atop a sheet of plastic turf. Allie looked for Zach to ask whose grave that was, but Zach wasn’t there. Nor was Sam. She wanted to call out, ask the gathered for whom they mourned, but her voice came out a whisper. Only Marshall heard it, standing to Allie’s left. And the word she had spoken wasn’t Who, it was Why.

  That was much the same question Marshall Granderson asked after slamming the bedroom door an hour later, exhausted from a day spent looking for and not finding his little girl. The only light Marshall turned on that night was the one on the porch. He retreated to his bedroom closet and drank as much as he could, feeling that cold goodness wash over him, succumbing to that sweet nothingness.

  He used his cell phone to try Bobby one more time and once again got his voice mail. “Where you at?” is all Marshall could manage, and even those three words came out slurred and jumbled through the thick haze left by the beer. He tossed the phone onto the dresser and lay back in the bed, felt the empty other side with his hand. Felt himself go.

  Grace was there and wouldn’t go away, said she couldn’t leave him the way he was. Marshall’s throat had gone sore from screaming at her, telling her to go back home and take all the food the town had brought with her. He refused to eat any of that charity, just as Allie had refused the very same in the days after Mary’s funeral. He’d left Grace in tears at the edge of the living room, trying not to hear her screaming back that he didn’t understand, she couldn’t leave him alone, she’d made a promise and was bound to it.

  There was only silence after that; Marshall thought she’d given up and gone home. But then Jake called long after Marshall had drawn his curtain down tight, and the phone had gone silent without the machine picking up. He lifted his head enough to read the tiny screen on the receiver. It read Line In Use.

  Like Allie, Sheriff Jake Barnett dreamed. He had done so often in his years, especially in the trying times several years ago, when the bad man came to Mattingly. Yet even those nightmares did not strike Jake with the terror of what he experienced this night. In his sleep he heard Zach’s voice calling from a dark so thick and complete it felt like quicksand around him. Jake called back, begging his son to keep talking, to walk toward his voice, but Zach could not hear him. He only kept asking his daddy to help, please help, because he was cold and hungry and tired. He didn’t know where he was, and he was scared because there were bad things all around him.

  There were monsters.

  December 22

  1

  The voice leaking through Allie’s sleep came too deep and too sick to be her mother’s. She opened her eyes to a sunlit tangle of branches and boughs inches from her face. Zach’s arms stretched through the shelter’s opening, shaking her.

  She raised her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, just time to get up is all. It’s too quiet out here. Driving me crazy. Sun’s up. Time to go.”

  She felt beside her and found only warm leaves and pine needles. “Where’s Sam?”

  “Out here. Come on.”

  Her body wasn’t as stiff as she’d found it the morning before. All the pain seemed to
have settled in her feet instead. It felt as though someone had spent the night ripping the skin open between her heels and toes before stuffing them with hot coals. She groped for her backpack, shoved somewhere in the back of the shelter.

  “My feet hurt bad, Zach,” she said. “I think something’s busted in them.”

  “Want me to take a look?”

  “Maybe. I gotta go first.”

  The cold just outside was instant and hard, burning Allie’s face. Shafts of golden light cut through the maples and beeches. Tendrils of mist rose from the bitter ground, forcing her to climb onto the log. Sam rushed to her from the edge of the now-solid pond. He wagged and huffed and slobbered on Allie’s face, but did not attempt a bark. The quiet over the woods prevented it. It wasn’t a holy kind of quiet, she thought, like the silence people fell into at church or a funeral. It was more a vacuum.

  Shelter or not, her Chucks had frozen in the night. Putting them on felt like wearing two icy cinder blocks. Allie bit her lip as she pushed her feet inside.

  “How’d you sleep?” he asked.

  She didn’t mention her nightmare, only said, “Not bad. You?”

  “Like a vacation.” Which Zach felt was true enough, so long as that holiday was spent in the middle of nowhere. His coat smelled like sweat, and his hair had dried into a thick, brown bird’s nest. They’d done a good job on the shelter, but Zach knew that wasn’t what had kept him so hot all night. The fever had done that.

  “You stay with Zach, Samwise,” Allie whispered. “I gotta go tend to business.”

  She shouldered her pack and walked off, fighting the urge to turn and see if Zach was watching.

  Because you know he is, she thought. You know he is because he knows something’s up, and sooner or later he’s gonna ask. And what are you gonna tell him? Irritable bowel?