The Forest Beyond the Earth

by Matthew S. Cox

  The buggy skidded off the road, bouncing up onto a mulch-covered incline, covering her with leaves and vines. It took her a few seconds to process that she’d stopped moving, and the buggy faced back the way she’d come from.

  Wisp stared platter-eyed at the road, breathing hard. The hammering noise of her heart in her ears drowned out the idling engine. She did not like how it felt to be in a buggy spinning around and around like that.

  “This thing is scary.”

  A few minutes of silence later, she peered down at her feet, still curled over the brake pedal, both legs pushing with all her strength. She exhaled and relaxed enough to release the brake pedal, then cranked the wheel all the way to the left before gingerly poking the gas with one toe. A gunshot like bang went off behind her, but the buggy rolled around in a turn, went across the road, and up the hill on the other side, tilting sideways at a worrisome angle. She stomped the brake, spun the wheel the other way, and eased the buggy back onto the road.

  “Phew… I don’t really like driving. Traveling somewhere isn’t supposed to be dangerous!”

  The road kept a mild incline for almost an hour before she once again found herself surrounded by trees. Small at first, they increased in size and number over the next few minutes. By the time she could no longer see any sign of desert behind her, she once again felt like she’d returned to the Endless Forest.

  Wisp kept her speed down much slower than she’d been going before, since the road here curved back and forth in a meandering route that barely let her go straight for a full minute before another turn came up.

  With a sputter from the engine, the buggy shook.

  “What was that?”

  Seconds later, the engine sputtered again―and conked out.

  The buggy lurched as if she’d stepped on the brake, a labored, mechanical groan coming from the engine. It didn’t take long before she’d rolled to a halt.

  “It broke?” She pushed the start button.

  Clicking and a belabored rurr-rurr-rurr noise emanated from somewhere behind her for as long as she held the button down, but it didn’t start.

  “What’s wrong?” She ducked her head to examine the front panel. Other than plain steel, and the hole through which the steering wheel post came, she didn’t find anything else to push or twist.

  The same labored whirring rose up again behind her, coming from the engine.

  She perked up and looked over her shoulder at the metal shell of the buggy, mostly flat to the back end except for a pair of pipes sticking out. “Why is it making that noise?”

  Whirring increased in pitch.

  A tree branch went by.

  She snapped her head around to face forward and stared at the road, which moved away from her.

  “I’m going backward! It’s not supposed to do that! These things don’t have a backward!”

  A bank of trees came up fast behind her. Wisp stomped on the brake and flew back against the chair. All four wheels squeaked, but the buggy stopped.

  “Whew…” She slouched with relief.

  After allowing a moment to calm down, she started to climb out of the apparently useless buggy, but it resumed rolling backward as soon as she let off the brake.

  “Eep!”

  She mashed her foot on the brake again.

  I’m stuck! If I get up, it’ll crash…

  Wisp looked over her shoulder at the tree-filled ditch behind her, forward at the uphill, and once again at the trees before staring at her toes curled over the brake pedal. I can’t sit here forever. She considered her situation. It’s like a pinecone rolling down a hill. But, pinecones don’t have steering wheels.

  She tried to turn the wheel, but it didn’t want to move. Grunting, she twisted harder, and it eased a bit to the left with a noticeable crunch coming from both front tires. This is hard when it’s not driving! Oh. I’m being stupid again.

  After easing the brake up a little, she again tried to spin the wheel. Once the buggy began rolling, the wheel turned easily, and she steered around in a curve. As soon as the buggy pointed straight across the road, she jammed on the brake again.

  “Okay. I should be able to get out now.”

  She eased off the brake. The buggy more or less stayed in place, since she’d parked it sideways on the hill. Happy to be free of it, Wisp climbed out and grabbed her rifle. If the buggy should decide to go rolling off without her, she didn’t care. As long as she wasn’t sitting in it when it flipped into a ditch, she’d be happy.

  Once more on foot, she continued climbing the hill. Within ten minutes, she located a spread of pennycress. That plant had a habit of drinking up anything bad in the area, so she checked around to make sure nothing smelled like chemicals. Confident the plant hadn’t absorbed anything poisonous, and having not eaten anything for a full day, she dropped on her knees and stuffed handful after handful of pennycress into her mouth. In the midst of her feasting, she caught sight of a huge burdock plant a short ways off in the woods.

  To celebrate being back in her forest, she took a long break from travel. After removing her backpack and canteen belt for comfort, she set up a fire pit then stacked rocks to hold the pot from her pack. Next, she hunted up some usable wood, and filled the pot with the canteen water from the buggy’s storage compartment. She scraped the ferro rod across the file, raining sparks over the kindling. For a minute or so, she puffed and fanned the smoldering, until it grew into a proper cooking flame. Kneeling by the fire as she so often did at home, Wisp boiled burdock leaves mixed with a handful of yellowgreens and a few crickets of opportunity.

  Once she’d finished eating, she lay flat on her back, legs slightly apart, hands on her stomach, and stared up past the treetops at the scraps of blue sky. Her happiness at being in the Endless Forest set off a bad thought: she didn’t want to return to the desert. Not even to collect Dad. She couldn’t move him anyway, and without the buggy, she really had no way at all to transport him here.

  Wisp closed her eyes. I have to bring him home. I have to go back. She exhaled out her nose. Mother will show me what to do.

  An unexpected nap drained a few hours from the day. She collected some wide, inedible leaves and dug a hole to make ngh. To ensure the fire went out completely, she dumped the boiled leaf-water on it. For the first time in days, she felt confident―out of the heat, with seven canteens of water and plenty of creeks and streams around, plus access to food. In no particular rush, she resumed walking down the road.

  Now, of course, she faced two problems, one new and one old. The new problem being that she had no idea how to get to her cabin. The old problem being Tree Walkers. Having returned to the forest also put her once again within their reach.

  Wisp clutched her rifle, despite knowing it couldn’t hurt them. At least she had some daylight left before she really had to worry. Shivering from dread, she pressed on, but kept looking around for a place to take shelter despite it only being late afternoon.

  In a moment of clarity, she stopped and pulled out the Mother Twig.

  “Which way should I go to get home?”

  The twig spun a little to the left, came back to the right, swayed left a little less, glided right, and stopped.

  A second before Wisp put it away, a light breeze arose, making the twig spin around and around counterclockwise. She stood there for a while watching it sway back and forth, slower and slower. Before it could stop, another breeze set it swaying again.

  “It’s the wind…” Her lip quivered. Has it always been the wind? “Mother? If you’re listening, please show me it’s really you. Make it point at me.”

  Wisp stood statue still, the twine dangling from her finger, the stick continuing to sway back and forth―away from her.

  “Mother,” said Wisp in a teary voice. “Please make it point at me. Show me you’re listening.”

  Another strong breeze set it spinning around and around, but it swayed back to point away from her.

  She stared at the sharpened tip of the t
wig wagging back and forth. Tears welled in her eyes, not knowing why Mother had become upset with her. Before she burst into sobs, she caught herself and took a deep, calming breath.

  “Mother is still tired from bringing me to Dad. She’s not upset at me.” She wound the twine around the twig and put it away. “I’ve got to find a place to hide before the Tree Walkers come out.”

  Canteens and pots jostled around in her backpack as she jogged. She slowed after only a moment, worrying about making so much noise, and walked the road around curve after curve.

  What are the Tree Walkers going to do to me if they take me? Dad never answered that beyond saying it’s too horrible to talk about. She shivered and forced the idea out of her head. No, Mother might be too tired to move the twig anymore, but she would still protect her from the Tree Walkers. She might not be warm and alive, able to hug her like Noma hugged Kit, but she was Mother, and she would protect her daughter no matter the cost.

  A familiar red wreck came into view along the side of the road.

  “The SUV!”

  She ran over and placed her hands on it, grinning. Finding something she had already seen had to be a good sign. She’d at least arrived somewhere close to home. Her grin faded. She had been walking for days before finding this old thing. But… Dad taught her to use the sun to find direction if she didn’t have a north box. How would he have felt about her Mother Twig? A simple stick and twine she hoped Mother would aim for her that had possibly never reacted to anything but the breeze?

  Accepting that Mother didn’t move the twig would be painful, but it would also mean that she may well have spent days roaming in circles before finding the end of the woods to the desert. If that’s what happened, she might not be days away from home―if she could somehow now manage a straight line. Of course, that would also mean that Mother either chose not to help or couldn’t help. Or maybe she had helped, but in ways more magical than a stupid stick on a piece of twine?

  She looked at the woods where she remembered emerging the first time she found the Expedition on the side of the road. From there, she looked up at the tallest pines in the area, memorizing them as a reference point. The sun hung overhead behind her and to the left. Considering it had to be a few hours or two until twilight, the sun would be in the west. By that, she figured the direction she had originally come from to this place would’ve been northwest. Going northwest now would bring her deeper into the woods away from the desert, so it sounded like a good direction.

  After one final look around to get her bearings―she chickened out and climbed into the SUV.

  Wasting three hours of daylight might be stupid, but if I’ve got a twelve-hour walk ahead of me, getting caught by Tree Walkers would be stupider.

  She drank from one of her canteens before heading back into the woods in search of dinner. Wild asparagus made for a surprising treat, since she adored it so much. She gathered enough for dinner and carried it back to the SUV, to eat raw.

  Once the light weakened, she prepared to settle in for the night, hoping to fool the Tree Walkers again by hiding inside an ancient machine. The tiny seat with all the straps tempted her, but even if the ancients had made the device to protect their small children from Tree Walkers, it wouldn’t do her any good. For one thing, she couldn’t fit into it, and also, it would be uncomfortable.

  As she had last time, Wisp curled up in the rearmost part of the SUV, completely hidden under her blanket.

  A Home of Silence

  -33-

  Wisp awoke in the middle of the night, biting her arm to keep from screaming. Her usual nightmare had happened again. Every time she fell asleep scared, she dreamt of being chased by Tree Walkers.

  She hunkered down and tried to return to sleep, but the bad water wanted out. Drinking an entire canteen right before bed had been dumb. Hoping that Tree Walker’s vine-like fingers couldn’t operate the SUV’s handles, she climbed up front to the driver’s position. Hanging herself out the door so she could leap inside at the first sign of moving plants, she let the bad water fall to the road as fast as she could be rid of it.

  For the next few hours, she huddled under the blanket, but didn’t get close to sleeping.

  At the first sign of daylight, she gathered her things and climbed down out of the SUV. The early morning air carried a chill despite the summer month. Cold paving under her feet served as another reminder of not being in the desert, and made her smile. A quick spin around to check landmarks reaffirmed her confidence, and she hurried off into the woods.

  Once she left road behind and her toes sank into soft soil with each step, she widened her stride, taking advantage of the less punishing terrain. Instinct took over and she stepped around roots with nary a conscious thought, too focused on keeping track of direction. Along the way, she swiped the occasional handful of creeping Oregon grapes or wild strawberries, munching without stopping.

  Several hours later when she began to doubt her heading, she halted by a tree, shrugged off the rifle and backpack, and climbed for an elevated look around. After going up three stories off the ground, she spotted a cliff ridge studded with rocks. Instant recognition hit her.

  That’s where I lost the tracks!

  She made her way back to the ground, gathered her things, and jogged in that direction. Within minutes, she emerged in a clearing and scaled a steep hillside up to the ridge where the marauder buggy’s tire marks had disappeared due to the hard soil. She squatted at the edge, thinking about how Zen thought the buggy hadn’t dug these ruts from driving there once. They’d been worn into the earth from many long-ago cars using this stretch as a road. Still, losing that trail had been such a painful moment, it all came flooding back to her in a wave of images and sorrow, but she did not cry.

  Her jaw clenched in determination.

  The buggy had followed a path through the forest wide enough for it to navigate among the trees. She put the early morning sun high and to her back, and headed off due west, following the dirt ruts that had originally led her away from home. Elation came with full body shaking. She jumped up and down out of pure joy at knowing where she was. When she had first followed this trail, she’d walked all day, spent the night under a tree, and reached the end a couple hours into the next morning. Tomorrow, she would be home. Then again, she had been hesitant and somewhat slow on the initial journey, as leaving home had been terrifying.

  Wisp leaned into her stride, hurrying along at the edge between walking and jogging. She followed the swerving trail for hours, refusing to stop. She allowed a short break when she found a creek, enjoying fresh, cold water. There, she dumped out all her canteens and refilled four of them with the clean water that hadn’t been sitting in plastic for days.

  Not far from the creek, she stumbled upon a huge patch of chanterelles growing around a dead tree, which played host to a sizable grub colony. The hunger that had been gnawing at her all day proved too insistent to ignore. She built a fire and cooked up a batch of grub-on-a-stick with pan-fried mushrooms, making enough to have a dinner portion later.

  Perhaps she ate a little too much. Her stomach hurt soon after she resumed walking, but she didn’t care. It had been a while since she could eat herself full. Dad might’ve scolded her for being wasteful, but she had a week of barely eating to make up for.

  Her hopes of completing the trip in a single day died hours later when twilight arrived and she still faced a long swath of trail.

  “Poop.” She sighed. “It’s all right. I’ll be home early tomorrow. I’d better get out of sight before the Tree Walkers wake up.”

  She set her backpack by the base of a tree and used her knife to dig out a shallow area in which she could lay down and not be so far above ground level her ‘person shape’ would be obvious. After arranging the blanket over that, she dusted it with handfuls of duff so it blended in with the forest floor. Satisfied at her camouflage, she covered her backpack and rifle with more leaves, vines, and pine needle castoffs, and lay down. Careful not to dis
place her camouflage, she eased herself under the blanket and pulled it up over her head.

  Despite feeling invisible, Wisp barely slept a wink. Especially when the snaps and cracks of things moving around the woods at night began.

  Mother protect me. Please, Mother, protect me.

  She lay awake, too frightened to sleep for what felt like hours. Her eyes snapped open when the crunching of a creature drawing close became loud. In the dark, with a leaf-covered blanket over her face, she couldn’t see a thing, but pictured a monster walking within ten feet of her. Crackling and shuffling, like a mass of leaves dragging along the ground, edged by at an agonizing pace. She stopped breathing, playing dead. An owl cooed in the distance, answered seconds later by another bird she didn’t recognize, then a series of whistles and clicks from a different direction. It had to be Tree Walkers―people didn’t rustle like that. Another coo-aww broke the silence; some giant bird must’ve been perched in the tree almost right above her, but something told her the Tree Walkers made those sounds. They didn’t talk like humans.

  She nearly lost control of her bad water.

  Mother. Dad. Please help me.

  A nearby crunch accompanied the blanket tightening across her feet. Something put weight down on the far corner. Wisp vomited a little in the back of her throat, but refused to cough. She refused to breathe.

  At a more distant owl hoot, the Tree Walker nearest her moved away, and the tension on the blanket let up. Wisp swallowed the bile in her throat and stifled a grub-flavored belch. The crunching, dragging mass of Tree Walkers grew quieter and quieter, until the susurrus of the forest filled in behind them.

  She listened to the insects and birds, too petrified to move, managing to breathe in and out her nose without making a sound.

  Mother was with me. She swallowed hard. She had to have been.