Footprints of Thunder

by James F. David

  East of Newberg, Oregon

  PostQuilt: Sunday, 6:30 A.M. PST

  Cubby and John were sitting in the van waiting for Ripman to return. John was fiddling with the radio, but he wasn’t picking up anything he could make out, and he certainly wasn’t picking up any of the Portland stations. Cubby was mumbling to himself, with his eyes closed and his head bowed. John guessed he was praying—like he’d been ever since Ripman took off down the hill toward Newberg. John hoped Ripman would return soon. Everything was clearer when Ripman was around. “Of course there hadn’t been a second coming of Jesus-what’s-his-name. This is just some kind of avalanche, or volcanic eruption,” he would say with such certainty that John would believe him. John needed to believe him.

  John often found himself between Cubby, the immovable rock, and Ripman, the irresistible force, and not only on metaphysical matters. Their confidence extended to all their decisions, whether it was picking a road to take, or classes to fill in their schedule. John envied their sureness and resented being blown about. Still, he comforted himself knowing that somehow he was the glue that held the threesome together. Cubby and Ripman never went anywhere without him.

  John had heard his dad talk about his patients often enough to know Cubby was experiencing an anxiety attack. Cubby was severely depressed, and scared. He was breathing rapidly and sweating, his only sounds were rapidly mumbled prayers for forgiveness. He wouldn’t respond to John and was losing touch with the world around him, drifting into a place no one would be able to reach him. John was scared too, but not immobilized by it like Cubby, who had convinced himself of the worst. John still had hope, or its cousin, doubt.

  Now he walked down the road toward town, to get away from Cubby’s incessant praying—there was something particularly pitiful when a guy as big as Cubby was so terrified.

  It was nearly dawn when John spotted Ripman coming up the road, carrying a big load. He stopped twice on his way up the hill. John met him part way, and helped him. Ripman had three of everything—stuffed packs, bows, quivers of arrows, and canteens.

  “Where did you get all this, Ripman? You stole it, didn’t you?”

  “I midnight requisitioned it from the sporting goods store.”

  “Jeez, guns would have been better, Ripman.”

  “You don’t run out of ammunition with a bow. Besides, the guns were chained up. How’s Cubby doing?”

  “About the same, but at least he’s not getting any worse. I think that’s a good sign.”

  “Don’t you know? Your dad’s a shrink, ya know.”

  “Up yours, Ripman! I’m not my dad.”

  Ripman ignored him and walked over to Cubby, dropping his share of the booty on the ground. “All right, Cubby, it will be light soon. I’m going to prove to you that this isn’t the second coming and there hasn’t been any rapture.”

  Cubby stopped mumbling his prayers and looked up at Ripman, eyes puffy, and tear streaks on his face.

  “How are you going to prove it, Ripman? It couldn’t he anything else,” he said with resignation.

  “First of all, Newberg is still full of people. They’re in there digging through the wreckage.”

  “That only proves how ignorant you are, Ripman. God isn’t going to take sinners in the rapture, only the followers of Christ. Of course there will still be people around, the sinners. It’s my fault, I let you guys down. I knew the path to follow and I didn’t even try to follow it myself, let alone show you two. Now we’ve got to face the tribulation.”

  Ripman blew out a deep breath. “Cubby, use your head. It’s the road that disappeared, not the people.”

  Cubby looked back at the forest, confusion edging out a little of the fear. Ripman saw the opening and pressed on.

  “I’m not saying I believe in this rapture stuff, but if I did I don’t think God would want whores and drunks.”

  “Of course God would want them! Ripman, you really don’t know anything about Christianity at all. God wants anyone who repents, confesses their sin, and asks Jesus into their hearts.”

  “Cubby, do you remember that strip joint we passed on the way here? It had a big sign outside that said NUDE-GIRLS-NUDE. There were pickup trucks parked all around it. Would God take those people? If they were there, they hadn’t repented right?”

  “No … I wouldn’t think so.”

  “Damn right, God wouldn’t want them. So let’s go see. It’s only a few miles from here. If the strip joint’s gone then I’m right and you have to shut up about this rapture crapola.”

  John could see hope in Cubby’s face, and some of the tough look started to come back. Hiking into the forest to the strip joint was something to do, and John was pretty sure his dad would approve of occupation therapy. Cubby was already drawing strength from the idea.

  Ripman had them divide up the supplies. They all ended up with portions of energy bars and trail mix. Everyone had a hunting knife and sheath, John carried a snake bite kit, and Ripman had a first aid kit. Everyone got a compass, a space blanket, disposable flashlight, and matches. The light from the sun wasn’t filtering to the floor of the forest yet, so they spent time practicing with the bows. John had never used a bow like the one stolen by Ripman. As a kid, he’d learned the shooting basics with a fiberglass bow, but these new ones had pulleys on each end, and the string wound back and forth, making three places to notch your arrow.

  John wasn’t surprised to find that Ripman was proficient with his bow. He showed John and Cubby how to hold the bows, and shoot. The arrows were definitely for hunting, with wicked-looking steel triangles for heads. Ripman pulled his bow back, aimed at a piece of cardboard along the road forty feet away, and shot the arrow smack into the target. John went next and found pulling this bow harder than his old fiberglass one.

  “Come on, you wuss,” Ripman prodded.

  John’s arm was shaking, and he still hadn’t pulled the bowstring all the way back to his ear. Suddenly his arm snapped the rest of the way back, and he saw Ripman smiling.

  “Got easy all of a sudden, didn’t it? That’s why they have the pulleys, so you can hold the arrow back longer. It lets you wait for the best shot.”

  John aimed carefully and then let the arrow fly. It disappeared into the grass ten feet short of the cardboard. Cubby didn’t have any trouble pulling his string back but his arrow flew way high and buried itself into the hill. They each tried a few more shots, but Cubby and John didn’t get better.

  The light from the rising sun was sending shafts through the trees when they started into the forest. The beams interwove with the trees creating a fabric of light and wood. Ripman went first, using his hunting knife like a machete, but the undergrowth was sparse and he soon put the knife away. A variety of ferns stood two to four feet in the air, and some clumps of grasses grew head high. The ground felt soft and mushy, as if they were walking through mulch. Occasionally they ran into tall grasses that were stiffer and sharp edged, like pampas grass. They quickly learned to go around these. The trees were all of one type, with coarse fibrous bark. Many were big enough to drive a car through. Ripman stopped by one and cut the bark with his knife.

  “Look here, Cubby. This is nothing but a redwood tree, I’ve seen them in California. Nothing supernatural here.”

  “Yeah? How did it get to Oregon?”

  Ripman ignored Cubby and led off again. John trailed behind Cubby, wishing Ripman had an answer to Cubby’s question. John had never heard of giant redwoods in Oregon. As he set a fast pace up the hill, Ripman soon had them puffing with the exertion. Ripman reached the top of the hill well ahead of Cubby and John, and when they caught up, Ripman was kneeling and looking up into the trees.

  “Get down you guys, and be quiet.”

  Cubby and John squatted down next to Ripman. “What are we being quiet for?” John asked, still gasping from exertion.

  “Look around. Do you see them?”

  John and Cubby looked around, first at the ground, and then following Ripman’s gaz
e. Cubby slowly lifted his arm and pointed into the tree in front of them. About halfway up, perched on a limb, was a lizard—but like none John had ever seen. It was reddish brown on top and dusky green on the bottom, so it blended in with the tree limb. It had long back legs and shorter front legs, and around its head was a bony flared collar, with short spines protruding from the top. Most striking of all was its size. It was three feet long. John suddenly realized that another similar lizard sat on the branch above the first. As John looked through the trees around them, he realized they were filled with the three-footers, all staring at them.

  Ripman leaned in front of the others and whispered, “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

  The lizards sat motionless in the trees, seeming confident they were out of reach of the three strange creatures below. The boys sat motionless, staring back, John because he was frozen in fear. Finally the lizard on the lowest branch skittered higher up followed by others on the low branches. That movement broke the stalemate, and Ripman slowly led them off through the trees. Lizards slithered through the branches above them as they walked. No one talked until they were sure the trees were free of lizards.

  “Jeez, I’ve never seen a lizard that size before,” John said. “Man, where did they come from?”

  Cubby looked like he was going to answer the question, but Ripman shut him up with a glare.

  “I don’t know, but let’s enjoy it while we can,” Ripman said.

  John watched Ripman’s back moving into the lead again, followed by Cubby. He knew Ripman was actually enjoying this. With every step deeper into the forest Ripman seemed more confident, as if he belonged there. But Cubby was badly shaken. He still wasn’t saying much, and the panic attack had changed the way John and Ripman thought of him. Silence, always a part of Cubby’s personality, had now become a symptom of his vulnerability.

  The experience with the lizards sensitized John to his surroundings. Movements, shadows, and noises he had missed before were now acutely important. He began to notice soft rustlings in the grasses, and quick movements in the shadows.

  Shortly they came to a fallen tree, its trunk nursing saplings all along its length. Ferns covered the spots between the tree sprouts. Ripman used the stumps of broken branches to climb to the top. Suddenly, something came shooting out from under the tree, running across John’s foot and disappearing into a patch of ferns behind him. John yelped and jumped back, tripping and falling to the forest floor.

  “What was that?”

  “I saw it,” Cubby said, speaking with confidence for the first time since they stepped into the forest. “It looked like a weasle but it had gigantic eyes.”

  “The Bible say anything about weasles with big eyes?” Ripman asked, mockingly.

  Cubby scowled, but then followed Ripman over the log. John came behind cautiously, checking the placement of each foot before he put it down. After cresting the hill, they made a slow descent and then a long level trek. Occasionally they came to a section where the trees had fallen or leaned precariously, their roots exposed. In one stretch John could see a whole hillside was covered with freshly fallen trees. It was a crazy quilt forest.

  John found the hiking easier when he put his mind into flowing consciousness. One portion of his mind took over the routine task of walking while the higher cerebral matter played with ideas, allowing him to keep up with Ripman and Cubby.

  The sun was high overhead when Ripman stopped, dropped his pack and quiver, and sat down, leaning against a branch from a fallen tree. “Well, Cubby? You see any strip joint?”

  John looked around. They were standing in a sparse stand of trees no different from a hundred other spots they had walked through. John could not imagine why Ripman thought this was the spot where the bar with the nude girls had been. Cubby looked around trying to confirm their location.

  “What makes you think this is the right spot?” John asked.

  Ripman started to reply, but Cubby cut him off. “If it isn’t this spot, then we’re past it.”

  Again John marveled at their certainty.

  “Was I right, Cubby, or what? You see any sinners around here? You see any topless joint? You think maybe heaven was getting a little boring so God decided to add nude dancing girls?”

  Cubby looked lost in thought. “Maybe, Ripman, maybe. But if this isn’t the rapture, then what is it?”

  Ripman didn’t have an answer. Instead he muttered “I told you so” and sat down with his pack in his lap. John broke out some of his trail mix and rested on fern fronds. What had happened? The tornado he could understand. Tornados had happened before, maybe not in Oregon, but they were common enough. There was even a part of the Midwest they named tornado alley. But what about this weird forest? Where did it come from and what happened to the nude girls? What happened to the radio stations? Could this forest go all the way to Portland? Maybe the radio stations weren’t broadcasting because they weren’t there anymore. And if they were gone what about John’s house? What about his parents? Cubby interrupted John’s thoughts by standing up and putting on his pack.

  “Where you going?” Ripman asked.

  “This answers one question,” Cubby said, gesturing at the forest around him. “But now I’ve got to find my parents.”

  John felt the same as Cubby, John had to know whether he had a home and what had happened to his parents. He just wasn’t sure how to go about it.

  “Are you going to walk, Cubby?” John asked. “Which way?”

  “That way,” Cubby said nodding in the direction they had been going.

  “Why not head back to the van and try to drive around? If the road is clear we could head out the Wilsonville Highway and try to come in on I-5.”

  “There was a lot of debris on that highway. I bet it takes two days to clear it. And they’ll clear Highway 99 before they work on some back road to Wilsonville. I can walk the rest of the way to Portland before then. Besides, I could break out of this over the next hill and hitchhike the rest of the way—”

  “Cubby, for all you know this forest could run all the way to Boston,” Ripman interrupted. “Hey, we found the spot where the topless joint was, but that doesn’t mean we can find your house.”

  Cubby thought for a minute and then squatted down. He ripped some of the grass and ferns out of the ground and cleared a patch of dirt. Then he drew in it with the tip of his knife.

  “I can’t pinpoint my house too well, but I can my dad’s church.”

  Cubby drew three circles on the ground and a couple of squiggly lines.

  “We know the hills and valleys seem to be the same, even though the trees and stuff are all different. We don’t know about rivers though. These are the hills I can see from the church. This one’s Rocky Butte, this one is Mt. Tabor, and this one is that one that has all the cemeteries on it. My dad’s church is right here on this hill.” Cubby stuck the knife in a spot just behind two of the hills. “This is the Willamette River and this is the Columbia. After I come down out of the West Hills and drop into the valley, all I need to do is cross the Willamette. Then if I hit the Columbia I’ll know I’ve gone too far east and need to turn south.”

  Ripman had been studying the map.

  “Don’t forget the Clackamas and that other river out here,” Ripman said adding more squiggly lines. Ripman started arguing over topographical details, but finally they turned to John,

  “You going with him?” Ripman asked.

  “I’ve got to find my parents too.”

  “If I was you, John, I’d head to that cabin your parents have at the coast. They’ll look there for you eventually. Besides,” he said, his voice softening, “if your parents are in the same place as the nude girls, then you are going to need that cabin. If it stays empty some survivalist is going to occupy it and you won’t have a chance of getting him out.”

  John felt stung. His parents couldn’t be gone like the nude dancers, could they? Sure, Ripman was right about the beach house. There was food the
re, and money hidden away. Still, Cubby was right too. This forest could end a few yards away, and he could hitchhike home by dinnertime. Hitching to the coast would probably take him all night.

  “This can’t go on much farther, Ripman.” John said it without conviction and then added, “I’m going with Cubby.”

  “Well then I might as well keep you wusses company.”

  Ripman didn’t say anything about finding his father, but John noticed Ripman had marked his house on the map he and Cubby made.

  It was late morning when they started out again, and a warm autumn day. One by one they took off their jackets and tied them around their waists. The forest thinned as they walked and they began passing through small natural meadows. Leafy deciduous trees joined the giant redwoods. John recognized poplars and some trees hung with fruit that looked like figs. There were no ferns in the meadows, and the grass was knee high.

  Ripman stopped in a stand of poplars, waved his hand for silence, then unslung his bow and notched an arrow. John and Cubby imitated him clumsily. Ripman whispered to them without taking his eyes off the forest ahead of them.

  “Something ran by … there.”

  John looked in the direction Ripman indicated but saw nothing except forest. Suddenly something John had never seen before ran through the trees and disappeared. It was five or six feet high and ran on large black legs, holding its slender tail straight out behind. It had long slim arms in the front and a snakelike neck that ended in a small head. Large yellow eyes were set just above the mouth.

  “Did you see—” John stammered.

  “Yeah,” Ripman replied. “Looked like a plucked ostrich.”

  Two more ran by, glancing at them. The tails and the necks were striped with wide bands of greenish yellow alternating with grayish greens.

  “Come on, let’s follow them.” Ripman’s voice overflowed with excitement.