“Sounds like a friendly guy,” I offered.
“He suggested we come back in a week—like I can just drop what I'm doing and reschedule this trip. Hell, if letting people camp this weekend is such a liability, they should just shut the park down for a couple of days.”
“I'm sure we'll be fine,” I said rather unconvincingly.
Jared turned to me, his features softening into a smile. “Yeah, we'll have a good time.” He leaned in and planted a kiss on my lips, adding, “Just don't go setting any forest fires, Penny. If you do, that asshole's never going to let me hear the end of it.”
“No guarantees,” I said from behind a grin.
Four
I'd expected to do some hiking on this trip. What I hadn't anticipated was that we'd have to hike deep into the woods just to set up camp. Standing outside the Jeep, Jared and I loaded ourselves up with gear until we both carried a good thirty or forty pounds of crap on our backs. From there, we left the parking lot behind us, starting onto a rugged footpath that would lead us into the woods and—supposedly—to our campsite.
Stepping into the overgrown woods brought relief from the mist, but introduced a new variable that I found most unwelcome.
Darkness.
It was funny, in a way, that I'd spent the drive in admiring the woods. Now that I was navigating them, I found the earlier beauty gone, replaced by an almost dizzying anxiety. Most of the trees had yet to shed their leaves, resulting in a dense and overgrown canopy that bred shadow. What little light existed was that cold, grey kind we'd left behind in the parking lot—hardly a comfort. Still, the deeper in we went, the more I missed that dumb, empty lot; I even came to miss the Jeep and the leg soreness I'd cultivated on the five-hour drive.
Like a regular wild man, Jared hummed and whistled as he trekked up the path ahead of me. He didn't have any map to go by—“Don't need one!”—and led me around as though the exact coordinates of our destination had been written into his DNA. Every quarter mile or so, we'd come across a break in the trees—a clearing of sorts—marked with a wooden stake. Each stake was emblazoned with a letter, indicating the campsite. We passed campsites A through F in about forty minutes' time.
Out of breath and courting a bit of soreness in my back, I rested against a tree and asked, “Which campsite is ours again?”
“We're at site M,” he replied.
Annoyance at this news gave me the energy I needed to press on. “Couldn't you have picked something a little closer to the car? It's not like A was taken!”
“Just wait till you see it,” he replied. “The edge of the campsite brings us real close to the creek. It's a view to tell your grandkids about!”
I'd been prepared to argue some more, but that last comment of his had taken me off guard, reminding me of my whole reason for coming along on this stupid trip. “Grandkids, huh? You plan to have a lot of those?”
He answered without missing a beat. “Sure do. Just gotta find the right woman first.” He turned just long enough to waggle his eyebrows at me. “Dunno if you fit the bill, sweetheart. You're a fun gal and all, but you're not exactly matronly...”
I snorted. “Oh, yeah? And I suppose you're a model patriarch?”
Spreading out his arms and motioning to the woods around us, he took a deep breath. “Open spaces like this really make a man think. It doesn't get any better than this, really. Marching through the woods, living off the land—this is what human beings were put on this Earth to do! I can't think of anything more exciting than to share this with someone. That's why I wanted to bring you out here, babe. I want you to experience this openness, this beauty. And, if it's in the cards, someday I'd love to bring a little tyke out here, for sure.”
I noticed a certain wistfulness in his voice, and so didn't interrupt him.
He kept on walking, hands in his pockets and his eyes scanning the treetops vacantly. His mind was elsewhere—probably far into some imagined future. “You know, growing up, I always imagined my life would be different as an adult. I pictured myself working some kind of office job. Married, a couple of kids by now. A family I could go on vacations with, enjoy the holidays with, you know? It's not that I have anything to complain about. I'm happy about what I've got—what we've got—but the closer I get to thirty, the more I think about the future—the future I imagined as a kid. The clock's ticking, isn't it? Makes me feel like I have to do something about it, else it'll slip away forever. And coming out here really puts it all into perspective for me.”
Jared wasn't usually this introspective; in all our years together, I'd never heard him talk about things like marriage and family with such frankness. Stranger still was that I kind of liked it. His talk of some idyllic future full of family vacations held unexpected appeal. My face felt hot, and I lowered my gaze to keep from meeting his as we walked along. “You don't say.”
Silence grew up between us while we took turns imagining what such a future might look like. It remained unbroken until, some minutes later, Jared stopped and pointed at something in the distance. “Hey, there it is! See it?”
I paused beside him, staring ahead into the woods and spotting a clearing some few hundred yards off. From the same direction came what sounded to me like the churn of a lazy stream. “Is that it? Site M?”
“Yep,” he announced. Adjusting his pack, he nodded at the clearing and took a few steps off the trail. “I'll race ya!” he offered, eyes twinkling like a ten year old's.
“What, through the woods?” I asked. “No, the path is—”
Jared sprang into the bush before I could even finish. “Last one there has to set up the tent!”
I tried in vain to grab the back of his pack as he dashed into the woods. “No! Hold on!” I stepped off the dirt trail and stomped on a few weeds, trying to wave him back. “Don't do this! Let's stay on the trail!”
I heard him laugh as he bounded over fallen tree trunks, making a beeline for the clearing.
“Damn it,” I muttered, staring down at the forest floor beneath my feet. There was no telling what kinds of plants I was standing on—were they weeds, or something more insidious like poison oak? What about snakes or spiders in the underbrush? Gripping the shoulder straps of my pack, I took another step into woods, my teeth on edge. “Jared, you asshole...”
The further he got from the trail, the less I saw of him. He popped into view intermittently as he bobbed around tree trunks and other obstacles, but if I didn't pick up the pace it was likely he'd disappear altogether. The supposed clearing where we were set to make camp was barely in view from where I stood—a mere sliver of grey, open space visible between the trunks of close-growing trees.
I took another step, holding my breath, and then set off with my head down. Twigs and underbrush crunched beneath my boots as I trudged. The warm feelings he'd nurtured up to that point dissipated forthwith as I ate his dust. Real cute, Jared, pulling this shit. Sweet-talking me one minute and then running off like a gazelle. I'll bet he thinks he's getting lucky tonight. Fat chance of that.
Birds chittered in the canopy, their voices rising over the gurgling of the creek. Pausing in my advance, I tried to make out Jared's form up ahead, but he'd slipped fully from view now. Probably, he'd already made it to the campsite and was laughing his ass off. The thought incensed me, and I had half a mind to linger in the woods awhile longer—to worry his dumb ass—but the longer I spent amidst the trees, the more nervous I became. I thought about turning back and resuming my walk on the trail; if I kept to the footpath long enough, I'd eventually come across Site M, wouldn't I?
I turned, weighing the idea of making a return to the path, but the forest shut me down immediately.
The trail wasn't there anymore.
Surely it was somewhere back there, but I couldn't see it. Not anymore. I'd put too many trees behind me to see the trail clearly now, and the longer I searched and squinted after it, the more my heart began to thump, the more disoriented I became.
I back-tracked, tri
ed to retrace my steps, but then thought better of it and continued my march to the clearing—or what I assumed was the clearing. Just pick one direction and stick to it. Otherwise you're going to get lost...
Panic welled up in me, parked in my throat.
In my hesitance, I'd already managed to adjust my course half a dozen times. I'd done too much fidgeting to be sure I was headed in the same direction as previously. Now, everywhere I looked there were only trees to be found. No Jared. No clearing. No path. Trees and the mocking voices of birds were the only constants.
“Jared?” I called out, but the wavering in my voice drained it of volume. My jaw tightened—one part in panic, the other in anger. Picking nervously at the sleeves of my sweater, I slowly scanned my surroundings and tried to gain my bearings. Just calm down. Breathe. The campsite wasn't even that far. There's no way you're lost. You can't have possibly wandered far enough to get lost... right?
The sky was mostly blotted out by leaves.
Tree trunks here.
Tree trunks there.
Which way? Which way?
I squeezed my eyes shut, damn near hyperventilating, and that was when I heard it.
The birds shut up just long enough to let the sound of the creek come through.
Follow the sound of the creek, I thought. Our campsite was near the creek, according to Jared—the louder it got, the closer I'd get to our spot, I figured.
After some false starts, I managed to suss out a slight increase in the creek's volume. A few steps more and I was hearing the water with still more clarity. Pushing through the woods, I settled on a single direction and stumbled towards what now looked like a break in the trees. Starting into a jog, the pack on my back threatening to topple me with every weighty bounce, I spied something sticking out of the ground that wasn't a tree trunk or weed.
A wooden marker with a yellow letter “M” painted on it.
Gasping, I burst out of the woods and dropped onto the ground beside the marker, hands clasping around it as though it were my savior.
From up ahead, I heard a snicker. “Babe, what's the matter? What took you so long?” Jared had begun unpacking things and was actively screwing together the poles to the tent.
Dropping my pack onto the ground and doing my best to keep my voice from breaking, I raced towards him, fists balled. “Don't you ever do that again. Don't you ever leave me in the woods again, got it?” The amusement drained from his face almost immediately, but even so the urge to kick him in the shins waxed overwhelming. “I don't do this off-trail shit, OK? I'm not comfortable out here, and I don't appreciate you leaving me behind like that. Maybe you think it's funny, but—”
“Babe, I'm sorry!” he pleaded, setting down the tent poles. He placed his hands on my shoulders—a gesture I promptly shook off. “I was just having fun! I didn't mean to scare you. I figured we were close enough to the camp that you wouldn't get lost. Honest, if I'd known it was gonna upset you, I wouldn't have done it.”
I jabbed a finger into his pec and glared up at him. “Promise me you won't do that again,” I insisted.
“Babe, I—”
“Promise, you asshole!”
“I promise, OK? I won't do it again!” He took me by the waist and drew me close. “From here on out, we're attached at the hip. How's that sound?”
I pushed away from him, both in frustration and because I didn't want for him to feel the lingering shivers that still coursed through me, but his grip on my waist proved too tight. Finally, he let me go and I nodded, combing a hand through my hair. Singling out a large, dry-looking stone on the ground, I sat down upon it and crossed my legs. “All right, well, as you were.”
Jared picked up the tent poles and continued his work. “Aw, come on. You aren't going to help me set this thing up?”
“Not on your life, Paul Bunyan.” I sighed, cradling my knees. “If you're lucky, I might let you sleep in it, though.”
Five
The mist kept falling, but that didn't stop Jared from getting the camp squared away. He buzzed around the site like a bee, gathering wood for a fire and unpacking various of the supplies. Fishing gear was inspected and stacked beneath a rickety picnic table, and the sleeping bags and clothing were set inside the tent. After that, he tried his hand at starting a fire. Dampness clung to every bit of tinder he'd selected so that he only managed to light a blaze after dousing the gathered wood in lighter fluid, but when he finally got the the mound of twigs burning he stood back and thumped his chest with pride.
“It doesn't count,” I chided from the picnic table. “Weren't you supposed to rub sticks together?”
The fire pit was circular, its boundaries marked by flat, white stones, and as the fire finally took, they glowed eerily against the feeble daylight. Fitting a small cast iron grill atop the pit, Jared went digging around in one of the coolers for food. “You hungry? I was thinking about cooking up some hotdogs.”
I clicked my tongue. “You're feeding me hotdogs? And here I was expecting filet mignon. You know what hotdogs are made of, don't you?”
He waved a pack of wieners in my face and ripped it open with his teeth. “Only the finest cuts, of course. Lips and assholes.” Emptying the contents onto the hot grate, he used a small stick to better arrange them and then motioned to the tent. “Why don't you check out the tent? The food will be ready in a few minutes.”
Tired of the mist and cold, I took him up on the offer and crawled on hands and knees into the thing. I was annoyed at the way my moist palms stuck to the plasticky material, and I clopped towards the center of the tent awkwardly. Finally, I sat down and had a look around—not that it took very long. It was a fair bit smaller than it had looked from the exterior; we'd practically have to sleep on top of one another. It occurred to me that Jared might have planned it that way.
In all my years, I'd never once had occasion to sleep on the ground, and I could see now that I'd avoided doing so for good reason. Jared had sought out the flattest, driest patch in the lot for our tent, but ultimately there's nothing you can do to make bare earth comfortable to sleep on—especially when you're as coddled as I am. I stretched out atop my sleeping bag and stared up at the blue plastic ceiling of the tent. Grey light filtered in from the edges where the material had been pulled taut, and the cool breeze found its way in through the breathable mesh adorning the entry point.
“So, this is outdoor living?” I muttered. “I don't see what all the fuss is about.”
Outside, the sounds of Jared humming to himself, of hotdogs sizzling and tinder popping, joined together into something quaint and unfamiliar. There were no ringing phones or murmuring TV's out here—no traffic sounds, even. You could hear the birds clearly, and the creek's gurgling kept on like a sink basin that would never fully drain. Closing my eyes for a minute, I felt like I was in the middle of a National Geographic documentary.
Another sound entered the mix—the snapping of a twig.
I opened my eyes and stared once again at the tent ceiling. It was a blue, glowing canvas, semi-transparent with the dim daylight coming through, and on it was a dark stain I hadn't noticed during my last perusal. It was a shadow, human-shaped. The shadow of someone standing over the tent.
The hotdogs were still sizzling and Jared was humming a few bars of “Roxanne” as I tensed and stared up at the humanoid blotch marring the top of the tent. The longer I looked at it, the more certain I became that it wasn't a trick of the light. It was no tree or other natural fixture, though the shadow remained stock still as though intending to play the part. The sight disoriented me; I felt like an infant in her crib, staring up at a kidnapper plotting to make off with her under cover of darkness.
Gripping the puffy sleeves of my sweater, the fibers cold and damp, I sat up slowly, eyes never leaving the shadow, and then reached for the tent entrance.
Is it Jared? What's he trying to do? Why's he just standing there?
I poked my head out of the entrance in time to catch Jared dropping t
o the grass on his knees. Cursing under his breath, he rummaged through the dewy blades and fished out a fallen hotdog. Brushing it off, he paused and then took a covert bite before noticing my gaze on him and backpedaling sheepishly. “Uh, I should've brought a pair of tongs or something. Accidentally knocked one of these wieners right off the grill.”
If it isn't Jared standing there, then who—
I felt a weight pressing down on me, as though the gravity in the tent had just doubled. My heart jumped up into my throat and I sprang from the tent in the next instant. Clawing through the misty grass towards the grill, I didn't stop moving until I'd arrived at Jared's side. I pressed myself against him, knocking the half-eaten hotdog from his grip, and stared at the tent. “There's... there's someone...”
Jared frowned, plucking the stub of meat from the grass and wiping the mud from it. Finally, he cast it aside. “What now?”
I took hold of his shoulders and pulled myself to a standing position, the knees of my jeans soaked through with rain. I stared across the top of the tent, wide-eyed, but stopped short of saying anything.
There was no one there.
Jared stood, craning his neck to look over the tent, and then turned to me with a shrug. “What's goin' on?”
Stepping past the grill, the picnic table, I approached the tent and leaned this way and that, till I'd seen it from every side. There was no one lurking beside it, and repeated checks of the nearby scenery yielded no natural culprit for the shadow. Putting off more of Jared's questioning—which was becoming tinged with concern—I crept back into the tent and had a look at the ceiling.
A glowing blue canvas. No shadows to be seen.
“Is it possible,” I began as I reversed out of the tent and wandered to the picnic bench, arms crossed, “that there's someone else here with us?”
Jared blinked a few times, like he didn't understand the question. “Uh... here as in... the park?”
The Splendor of Fear Page 3
