Don't Move

by James S. Murray

  And now his “guide” appeared lost in his own world. Ambling between the trees, compass dangling from his right hand, gazing around as if he had just been dropped on a planet teeming with alien plant life.

  This had to stop.

  Vargas hurried to his side. “Where are you heading?”

  “Back to the bus.”

  “We didn’t come this way.”

  “It’s an alternative route.” DeLuca flashed him a smile. “Who knows what we might find?”

  “I need my meds, man. Let’s explore on the way back.”

  “We’re not going out of our way. I know what I’m doing, Ricky.”

  “Do you?”

  “My day job involves the natural world.”

  So you’re what, an exterminator?

  Vargas bit his lip before saying anything else. Little did DeLuca realize, he was sealing his own fate faster than expected. They had made it at least a mile from camp. Nobody would hear a thing. It was time to act.

  DeLuca turned and headed back through the trees.

  Once again, in the wrong direction.

  Vargas followed, now filled with a different sort of intent. Adrenaline pumped through his body, as it always did when a fight looked inevitable. He didn’t expect this one to last long. He scanned the ground between them as they walked, looking for something to get the job done with a single blow.

  His boot scuffed against a fist-sized rock. That should do the trick. Then he could be on his way without having to go nuclear on DeLuca’s ass.

  He stooped to pick up the rock.

  DeLuca stopped abruptly and turned, eyes wide with excitement.

  “I think we’ve made our first discovery!”

  “Yeah? What’s that?” Ricky replied, quickly standing upright.

  “Look over there.” He pointed toward a dark glade surrounded by woods. “You see that cabin?”

  The ramshackle building, likely over a century old, had moss covering its sagging roof. Big whoop. It had gotten DeLuca’s juices flowing. No doubt he’d already woven it into one of the nutty theories he’d yakked about on the bus.

  But what got Vargas’s blood pumping was the thought of completing his real job. For that, he needed the keys and to get back on the right track.

  “Wanna explore it?” DeLuca asked.

  “Dude, are you trying to kill me? What the hell, man? Let’s check it out when we return. For now, I need my insulin shot.”

  “You’re right, you’re right,” his guide said. “My apologies. This is all just so exciting to me. We’ll explore it on the way back, then.”

  DeLuca slipped a notepad out of his jacket pocket and scribbled something—no doubt just blather about his important “find.” Then he turned and headed back in their original direction of travel.

  Vargas ducked back down and picked up the rock.

  From here, he figured the bus was roughly a mile away. Maybe a twenty-minute hike through the forest. The fact that the guide had got himself back on track made no difference. Their chapter together ended here.

  Vargas took a deep breath and quickened his stride, closing in quietly from behind. Drawing close, he lifted the rock.

  Chapter

  Ten

  Before Vargas had a chance to hammer the rock down, bringing an end to his acquaintance with this ridiculous tour guide, DeLuca stepped to the side and crouched by a thick tree trunk. He pointed at a trail of disturbed ferns that snaked down a gentle slope.

  DeLuca glanced back to him. “You see that, Ricky?”

  Vargas quickly slipped the rock behind his back. DeLuca was temporarily out of range, and he wanted to do this fast and quiet. Yes, they were well out of earshot of the group, but other outdoor freaks might be close enough to hear a protracted fight. He needed an opportunity for a clean surprise blow.

  “You see that?” DeLuca repeated, the excitement clear in his voice.

  “What?” Vargas replied.

  Nothing ahead looked any different. The long shadows of dusk were creeping over the forest, making it slightly darker, but Vargas couldn’t detect anything to prompt such an abrupt action. Besides, he wasn’t interested in some supposedly rare plant or tree.

  “Over there,” DeLuca said urgently, jabbing ahead with his finger.

  “Over where?”

  “Are you blind? Look!”

  “At what?”

  “You can’t miss it.”

  Vargas searched in front of them again. Previous abrupt warnings like this usually came when a rival was spotted on his turf—a shout to look out or be on his guard. He reminded himself that he was on a camping trip with do-gooders.

  He scanned between the trees, trying to locate whatever seemed so important.

  A white-tailed deer stood in the distance, staring directly at the two men. It had a majestic rack of antlers. Even though Vargas wasn’t a fan of the great outdoors, seeing an animal like this in the wild gave him goose bumps nonetheless.

  “Nature at its best,” DeLuca whispered. “She’s a real beauty too.”

  “She? Isn’t it a male?” Vargas asked. “It’s got antlers. That’s a dude.”

  The guide gave him a blank stare. Vargas wasn’t entirely sure about the sex of the deer. That said, despite his lack of knowledge about the animal kingdom, he doubted that DeLuca knew any better.

  And once again, none of it mattered. The more he delayed, the more he was getting sucked into this man’s silly exposition.

  DeLuca turned back toward the deer, studying it more carefully.

  Now Vargas had his shot. He closed the distance toward DeLuca.

  From up in the canopy came an odd high-pitched hissing sound. It was like nothing he had heard since arriving in these woods. Both men instinctively froze. The noise sounded insect-like to Vargas. It reminded him of the creepy sounds he had heard when he helped dump a rival gang member’s body in a marsh in the Bronx River watershed.

  The thought of the stiff corpse turned his stomach. The pale-white skin with purple blotches where lividity had set in. He was no stone-cold killer. But back then he was younger and had assumed he must get his hands dirty to prove himself.

  That corpse was probably a better guide than DeLuca.

  Vargas took a step toward him.

  No time like the present. Next time he looks away . . .

  The hissing grew louder until it reminded Vargas of the white noise from an old-school TV tuned between channels.

  Oddly, the supposed outdoorsman appeared equally confused—alarmed, even.

  “What’s up?” Vargas asked. “You look like you seen a ghost.”

  “What the heck could be making that racket?”

  Vargas shrugged. “Cicadas?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. They’re more of a ring than a hiss, and anyway, they’re not due for another three years.”

  “Okay, so they came out early. Who gives a shit?”

  “They don’t—”

  A scream cut him off. Short and sharp, like that of a distressed animal. Vargas’s head snapped toward the buck in time to see its four hooves shoot up into the canopy. Nothing else moved in the forest.

  That was all he saw. Then . . . everything went silent.

  DeLuca squinted into the fading light. Sure enough, the deer had vanished.

  Almost instantly, the hissing had stopped.

  “What the hell?” DeLuca muttered.

  He took the words right out of Vargas’s mouth. He stood staring, trying to process what he had just witnessed. And now there was only the eerie silence of the forest.

  DeLuca moved from behind the tree, peering down the deserted trail. “Now, what kind of creature can do that?”

  Vargas stared, nothing to say.

  The hissing started again. But louder. The treetops shook and swayed in
a path that seemed to be coming toward them.

  Vargas stared upward as the thrashing and snapping of small branches drew closer, as if a giant wrecking ball were swinging through the canopy. He covered his ears as the hiss grew louder. It consumed his awareness. Scrambled his thoughts. Disoriented him.

  DeLuca stared openmouthed. He gripped the sat phone in his quivering hand.

  Vargas instinctively took a step backward.

  Branches swayed and groaned above, and leaves fluttered to the ground. The overhead movement crashed on by, twenty yards to their left.

  Vargas’s heart pounded against his chest as he tracked the movement. He looked back in the direction of the camp, trying to think of a clear way forward.

  Then everything fell silent again.

  What the hell was happening?

  Whatever it is, maybe it’s time to run.

  Behind him, DeLuca grunted sharply.

  Something pattered against Vargas’s back.

  What the . . . ?

  He whipped around toward the tour guide . . .

  But DeLuca was not there. The only evidence of his existence was the sat phone—still switched on, but now with a cracked screen—lying where he had stood just moments ago.

  The coward freaking ran.

  “Yo, DeLuca!” Vargas called out. “Come out, you chickenshit.”

  He didn’t respond.

  Vargas glanced around at all the nearby trees. Nothing. His eyes went slowly up into the canopy. A drop of liquid hit his left eye.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  He looked back down to avoid the oncoming rain. But it wasn’t raining.

  He wiped his eye and wondered at the crimson stain that appeared on his forearm.

  Blood?

  Vargas drew in a shuddering breath. Being out here in normal conditions unnerved him enough. But this situation had plunged him deeper into the unknown. He swept his jacket off.

  Crimson drips fell from the black leather, pattering the already damp ground.

  “What the fuck!” he shouted to no one.

  The back of his jacket was covered with blood. He staggered backward and flung it into the undergrowth.

  Vargas spun in all directions, searching for any sign of movement. Any sign of his guide.

  “DeLuca!” he bellowed. “Quit screwing around!”

  It was more desperation than hope. Someone or something had attacked. His mind raced with what it could possibly be, and how to defend himself.

  An eagle? No, of course not—way too small. A bear? Were bears even in these woods?

  He had no clue. The sweat beading on his brow trickled down his face. Facing a person was easy. They were predictable. But a wild animal?

  It was time to run. But not in the same direction DeLuca went.

  Don’t need no evidence pointing toward me. Get to the bus; get the fuck outta here.

  He took a step toward the trail that led to the road, but stopped midstride.

  The high-pitched hissing started again. Scarily close. Honing in on Vargas from the direction of the bus.

  The canopy thrashed only thirty yards ahead.

  His limited options had narrowed to one. The bus would have to wait. He needed to reach safety fast. That safety lay in numbers, away from where the deer and DeLuca had vanished.

  Vargas took off at a sprint, heading back toward camp, racing as fast as he could.

  He gulped in air as he bounded through the ferns. Every few strides, he peeked over his shoulder. The overhead thrashing appeared to track him. Always a few seconds behind, but relentless in its pursuit.

  He was being hunted.

  Goddamn it, I’m not going like this—not with all that’s at stake.

  His right boot crashed against a rock, and he flew face-first into the undergrowth. Vargas came to an abrupt stop, inches from a boulder.

  The hissing seemed to be right on him.

  He tensed for a moment.

  Get up! Get your ass moving.

  Vargas scrambled to his feet and pounded ahead. He had maybe a mile to go.

  His lungs burned, though smoking had dropped a notch in his pecking order of current health issues. His only chance was to keep going and hope that someone in camp knew what the hell they were facing.

  And that one of them had brought a better weapon than a goddamn pocketknife.

  Chapter

  Eleven

  Flashlight beams cut across the gloomy clearing. Rizzo, Ryan, Emma, Connor, and his grandparents were sitting around the campfire, but they hadn’t lit it yet. The pastor was waiting for the two men to return from the bus before they started toasting marshmallows.

  Megan had thought it unrealistic for DeLuca and Vargas to make it back here before nightfall, though she had kept quiet. The group already had enough competing voices without her adding to the confusion.

  She sat in front of her tent with her Kindle, using the last remnants of natural light to read the novel she’d brought along—a rather fantastical thriller set in the subways of New York City. A nice hour-long respite from life. She would join the group later and socialize. For now she just wanted to relax and dive into the tale.

  A distant cry broke the silence.

  Then another, more desperate-sounding scream. Someone in danger. Too far away to know what they were yelling. Loud enough for her to understand that trouble was coming.

  She lowered her book, alarmed.

  The group all peered into the trees.

  “What the hell?” Ryan said. Guiding Emma behind him with one arm, he stood facing the forest, fists clenched.

  Rizzo’s flashlight beam speared the darkness.

  Megan grabbed her Swiss Army knife and climbed to her feet. She headed over to everyone else.

  “Is someone in trouble?” Jim asked.

  “Seriously?” Ryan scoffed. “Wherever Vargas goes, someone’s in trouble.”

  Rapid footsteps thudded. A dark figure rushed toward the camp, staggering between the trees. Slowly, he became recognizable.

  It was Vargas. She could tell by his rangy physique. He burst into the clearing and slowed to a walk, panting heavily. His dark-brown hair was slick with sweat. He propped his hands on his knees, sucking in deep, wheezing breaths.

  “What’s going on?” Ryan demanded. “Where the hell’s DeLuca?”

  Vargas raised a hand while catching his breath.

  Jim wrapped an arm around Connor. Maryann stepped behind them. The three wore matching blue fleece jackets. Their movements looked defensive, which Megan could understand, considering Vargas’s apparently checkered history, coupled with the absence of their guide.

  Emma clutched Ryan’s arm in a don’t-do-anything-stupid way.

  Vargas stared wild-eyed around the group, as if something had put the fear of God into him. He tried to speak but only produced a string of stuttering vocalizations. Nothing like the confident man who had boarded the bus and met Ryan’s confrontation head-on.

  These observations set off alarm bells in Megan’s head. Something clearly wasn’t right. He wasn’t acting like himself.

  Rizzo rested a hand on Vargas’s back. “Ricky, slow down, catch your breath. Tell me where Paul is.”

  “I don’t know! I don’t know!” Vargas gasped. He gulped in another couple of breaths. “He just . . . disappeared.”

  “Disappeared?” Ryan said angrily. “What have you done, Ricky?”

  “The hissing! It’s something in the trees. Did you hear it?”

  “Huh?”

  “Listen. The hissing . . . the trees.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “listen!” Ricky yelled.

  The group fell silent. All Megan could hear was the roaring rapids left of the clearing, the light breeze rustling the woods, and Var
gas’s rapid breathing. Either he was a great actor, or the fear in his voice was genuine. She suspected the latter.

  “Ricky, I don’t hear anything,” Rizzo said calmly, though his face betrayed a very different emotion. “I need you to calm down. Now, tell us what happened to Paul.”

  “He . . . he just vanished.” Vargas glanced back at the forest. “Something just took him. And it chased me all the way back here.”

  “Something? What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know! Something in the trees. First, it ripped a deer off the ground, and then . . . then he went missing.”

  “Something in the trees ripped a deer off the ground?” Ryan asked, growing visibly angrier by the second.

  “yes!”

  Ryan broke free of Emma’s grip and stormed toward Vargas. He stopped only inches from the other man. “What did you do to him, Ricky? Tell me!”

  “Nothing! I swear! One minute he was there, then he was gone. We heard this loud hissing, then he disappeared. I don’t know. I don’t fucking know!”

  “You don’t know?” Ryan asked sarcastically. “You mean you don’t want to tell us! I swear, if you hurt him in any way—”

  “I’m telling you, asshole, something is out there and it’s coming for us.”

  It was already obvious that the others did not trust Vargas. Turning up with such an outlandish story and no DeLuca wasn’t going to improve the situation. Megan stayed quiet, though. She didn’t have enough information to form an opinion.

  “If I did something to him,” Vargas snapped, “why wouldn’t I just take the bus keys and split?”

  “That’s probably why you went in the first place,” Ryan shot back.

  Vargas sprang forward, thrusting his palms against Ryan’s chest. The force sent him staggering back.

  Once again, Megan decided to move. She quickly stepped between the two men before they could start throwing punches.

  Emma must have been thinking the same. She stood shoulder to shoulder with Megan, giving her boyfriend a sharp look.

  Ryan shook his head. “You can’t believe a word he’s saying. Next, he’ll be telling us bigfoot is about to raid our food.”