by R. L. King
“Look,” Joe, who at six-three and two hundred pounds of muscle was the fittest member of the group by far, growled, “I’ll be fine, okay? I don’t need a babysitter.”
“I’m sorry, but those are the rules,” Mr. Warby said. “What would your parents say if they found out we—”
“I have to take a dump, okay?” Joe snapped. “I was trying to be discreet about it, but hey, there it is, right out in the open. Anybody want to come along and help me wipe my ass?”
Laughs—some embarrassed, some amused—rippled through the group, and the bright red spots lighting up Mrs. Burford’s cheeks had nothing to do with the cold.
Mr. Warby rubbed his chin and exchanged glances with Mrs. Burford, who shrugged.
“Fine,” he said at last. “But hurry up. And don’t go far away. Close enough so we can hear you if you call.”
“Close enough so we can smell him,” Steve said under his breath to Clay, who snorted.
Andre snickered. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”
“No, but Joe does,” Clay said.
Joe, already tired of his bodily functions becoming fodder for group hilarity, grumbled something nobody could hear and stalked off into the forest.
“I’m serious,” Mr. Warby called. “Don’t be gone long. We’re heading back soon.”
“Hey, these things can’t be rushed, you know,” Jazmin drawled. She wished she’d thought of it first—maybe she could have pretended she had the runs long enough to get a few hits off the joint she had squirreled away in her pack.
Joe wasn’t lying: he really did need to take a dump. On top of the Doritos and Hershey bars he’d been chowing down on during the rest stop, he’d also devoured three Kit Kats, a whole bag of Funyuns, and two Red Bulls before they’d left on the hike. Now they, along with the underdone sausages Mrs. Burford had cooked over the breakfast fire, were all catching up with him at once.
He didn’t pay much attention to Mr. Warby’s instruction to stay close by. He was almost eighteen, after all—almost an adult who could no longer be ordered around by teachers—and in truth, his concern was exactly what the pimply little nerd Hull had suggested: that if he stopped too close to the clearing, the breeze would carry the smell back to the rest of the group. He wouldn’t have minded that with his football buddies—he probably would have joined in the jokes about it, if not instigated them himself—but there were girls here. The idea of Allie or Jazmin teasing him about lighting a match made his balls crawl.
He didn’t even think about what Brittany might do. He never thought about Brittany.
He kept walking until he was sure he couldn’t see the clearing anymore, and couldn’t hear the group’s laughing voices. Then he kept going a while longer, just to be sure. By the time he stopped, he figured he’d made it at least a quarter mile from the trail, and the way back was fully obscured by the area’s thick growth of trees.
He looked around until he spotted a large maple with a thick carpet of dead leaves spread beneath it. This time of year, many of the trees had already shed their leaves or were in the process of it, which mean there were plenty of good places to bury his business without having to dig a hole in the hard ground. He glanced around again, then unbuckled his belt and pulled his jeans down. The chilly air nipped at his bare ass. No kidding he was going to hurry, but not because of what Mr. Warby had said. He’d get laughed at even more for ass-frostbite than he would for this.
He finished his business quickly, using some leaves in lieu of the toilet paper he didn’t have, and buckled up again. He was surprised Burford hadn’t already called out to him, worried that he’d been trampled by a moose or mauled by a bear. That was good—maybe if he got back soon, the group would be focused on getting back to camp and wouldn’t make any more jokes about his unexpected pit stop.
As he looked around, he realized he wasn’t exactly sure which way the trail was. Suddenly, all the trees looked alike. His heart pounded a little harder, but he took a deep breath to settle himself.
Come on—use your head. This isn’t hard.
He oriented himself using the tree he’d done his business under, then faced back the way he’d come. “They’ve got to be there,” he muttered under his breath. “That way.”
He wasn’t completely sure of that, though.
He stopped, standing completely still, and craned his ears for any sounds of laughing, talking, or rustling snack-food wrappers. He hadn’t gone that far away from them; even though he couldn’t see them anymore, sound carried a long way out here in the boonies. He knew that from the few times he’d gone deer hunting with his father when he was younger, before things got strained after the divorce.
He heard nothing but the rustling of the leaves. They almost sounded as if they were whispering above him. Maybe they were even talking about him, mocking him in their tree-language for wandering off alone to take a shit in an unfamiliar forest. Maybe they were angry at him for defiling one of their number.
No, that was silly. This whole thing was silly. Joe knew which way the group was. If he stood near his pile of leaves, the tree would be on his left side. So all he had to do was point himself the right way, keep walking, and he’d find them.
He didn’t call out, not right away. Doing that would tell them he was scared, and there was no way in hell he was going to tell them that. Big, athletic Joe Buchanan freaking out in the woods while a couple of nerds, a gay dude, and three girls were fine? I don’t think so.
He started walking, his boots making soft crunching sounds in the carpet of dead leaves.
Any minute now, I’ll hear them.
But he didn’t hear them.
He glanced at his watch, mentally kicking himself for not checking the time before he left the tree. It was three-twenty. Except for Jazmin—it’s always four-twenty for her, his smartass but unhelpful interior voice supplied. Right now, he wished she were with him—a couple of hits from one of her joints might calm his racing heart.
Turning back around, he tried to spot the tree he’d left, but they all looked alike, big and dark, their interlocking branches looming above him. They even seemed to be closer together now, almost as if they were closing in on him. But of course that was silly. Trees didn’t move—not outside those stupid Lord of the Rings flicks the nerd herd were always blathering on about.
“Okay,” he whispered, nearly jumping as a squirrel broke from cover not five feet from him and darted up one of the trees. “Okay. I’m going the right direction. It can’t be much farther. Just keep going.”
He thought about the advice they gave little kids when they got lost in the woods: find a tree and hug it. The idea was that wandering around was more dangerous than just staying put, and if anyone was looking for you, you had a better chance of being found if you didn’t move. He couldn’t help laughing at the image of his big, strapping self, arms wrapped around some massive tree-trunk, waiting for the grownups to find him and give him a teddy bear and some hot chocolate.
Yeah, fuck that noise.
But as he kept walking, keeping a slow but steady pace, he couldn’t help thinking something must be wrong.
He should be there by now.
He hadn’t walked that far away from the clearing.
But all the trees looked alike, they did seem to be growing closer together than before, and the sunlight filtering through the branches above seemed to be getting dimmer. It would be dark in an hour or so—plenty of time to get back to the campsite if they left now.
But they wouldn’t leave without him…
…would they?
“Hey, guys?” He yelled the words, strong and clear, his fear doing an end run around his male pride. They could laugh at him for being a pussy if they wanted to. Even the girls. Hell, he’d laugh with them, if only he could get back to the group. They could all sit around the fire tonight, guzzling soda and dropping hot dogs into the flames. This would be the kind of story they’d relive ten years later at their school reunion over too many beers, a
n unlikely Breakfast Club of jocks and nerds and stoners and goths who never had anything to say to each other except for this one time when dumbass Joe Buchanan almost got himself lost in the woods.
“Guys? Are you out there? Jazmin? Allie? Andre?”
He stopped, his breath whistling in his throat, and listened for a reply.
Nothing.
He swallowed. “Okay,” he said again. “Okay. Come on, man. You can do this.” Just pick a direction and start walking.
He yanked his phone from his pocket with a shaking hand. Perhaps God would take pity on him and give him a bar, even out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Just one bar, that was all he needed. That was enough to send a text, or maybe even make a call.
But the tiny words NO SERVICE mocked him, just like the trees did.
He was alone out here.
“Guys?” he yelled, even louder this time, in the booming voice he used to call to his teammates across the football field. “Where are you? I got turned around out here! Somebody say something!”
This way…
He jerked and spun in place as a soft, sibilant voice whispered in his ear. It seemed as if the speaker was standing directly behind him.
But no one was there—only more trees.
“Did somebody call? Allie? Mr. Warby?”
This way…
The voice was stronger, and now it had a definite direction to it—off to his left.
This way…
If it hadn’t been Joe Buchanan who’d had a sudden urge to make like a bear in the woods that afternoon, but rather one of the nerds, things might have gone differently. Because every nerd, every player of Dungeons and Dragons, every veteran consumer of fantasy and horror and science fiction, knows that following unseen voices in deserted forests rarely leads to good ends.
Joe Buchanan wanted nothing but to get the hell out of this forest and back to his group. He wasn’t stupid—they don’t offer Stanford scholarships to stupid people, not even football players—but fear can do funny things to your mind.
This way…
Joe started walking.
He continued walking as the unseen voice—perhaps the voice of the trees themselves, or perhaps of something more sinister—guided him on his way.
Mr. Warby leaped up from the rock he’d been sitting on. “Joe! Damn it, where have you been? I told you not to go far away!”
The other students, who’d been lounging, eating more junk food, or pacing around getting nervous about the fact that the sun would be setting soon and they might have to walk in the dark, all crowded around, their voices joining into unintelligibility.
Joe flashed them a cocky grin. “Calm down, people. Sheesh, you’d think nobody ever had to use the little boys’ tree before.”
“Dude, you were gone twenty minutes!” Clay said.
“Told you, some things can’t be rushed.” Jazmin hadn’t gotten up; she sat sprawled over a large rock, propped on her elbows.
“Are you all right?” Mrs. Burford asked.
Joe gave her a withering look. “Seriously, Mrs. B.? Come on—we’d better get hoofing if we want to get back before it gets dark. I’m starving.”
“Yeah, you’re probably five pounds lighter,” Steve muttered, and Clay guffawed so hard he snorted.
“Laugh it up, nerdos,” Joe grumbled, taking a fake swing at Steve’s head. “You got any more of those Doritos? I gotta restock.”
As they gathered their stuff and set off back down the trail toward the campsite, Mrs. Burford and Mr. Warby, bringing up the rear of the group, swapped concerned glances. Joe had been gone a long time…but maybe that just meant he’d had difficulty with the—er—facilities and didn’t want to talk about it.
All was well now. They had plenty of time to get back before dark if they picked up the pace a bit. Best to just leave the kid alone.
Mr. Warby gave Mrs. Burford a sly smile, and she forgot all about Joe and his problems.
“Hey, wake up,” a voice whispered.
Brittany jerked awake to find a shadowy, broad-shouldered figure bending over her cot. As she pulled in breath to scream, a hand settled over her mouth.
“Don’t scream,” the voice said, still whispering but more reassuring now. “It’s me—Joe.”
Joe? A full-body shiver rocketed through Brittany. I’ve got to be dreaming. It was a fair thought—she’d had plenty of dreams featuring Joe Buchanan for the past several years, though none of them had involved him putting his hand over her mouth. Usually, his hands were somewhere else.
She nodded several times, and a moment later the hand moved away.
“Don’t freak, okay? It’s just me,” he said again.
This did not seem anything like her usual dreams. “What—” What time was it? The cabin was in nearly full darkness, with only the hint of moonlight shining in through the dirty windows. She snatched up her phone and clicked the button. 2:34 a.m.
“What do you want, Joe?” she whispered. “It’s the middle of the night.” She didn’t even dare to hope he was here to spirit her away to the third cabin for some “hanky-panky,” as Mr. Warby called it in Old-People Speak.
“Hang on. Let me wake up the other girls.”
“But—Mrs. Burford—”
“She’s in Cabin Three with Mr. Warby, sleeping off post-coital bliss. They won’t be back for hours.”
Brittany finally caught up with the rest of the conversation—the part about “the other girls.” Did Joe want…oh, my God…an orgy?
She wanted to ask, but not only would those words never pass her lips in Joe Buchanan’s presence, but he’d already moved on to Jazmin’s bed. A few moments later, both she and Allie were also awake. All three of the girls quickly slipped on their heavy coats and boots and followed Joe outside, behind the far side of the cabin out of Cabin Three’s view.
Steve, Clay, and Andre were already waiting, rubbing their hands together or jamming them in their pockets against the nighttime chill. The temperature had dropped considerably at sundown, and their breath now puffed into little clouds under the moonlight.
“What’s this about?” Steve asked under his breath. “Why’d you wake us up?”
“Shh…keep it down. We don’t want Burford and Warby to hear us.” Joe pulled his blue knit Patriots cap down low over his forehead.
“So, what do you want?” Jazmin demanded. She resented getting awakened again, since she’d already slipped out once that night to make a run down to the convenience store, hoping to meet Tony. She’d waited for half an hour, and when he didn’t show she’d trudged much more slowly back to the cabin. She’d only been asleep for less than an hour when Joe woke her up again, and she wasn’t at all happy about it.
Joe leaned in, inviting them all into his conspiratorial huddle. After a moment’s hesitation, they all moved closer until they stood in a tight circle. “I want to show you guys something,” he whispered.
“Show us something?” Steve asked, looking around as if expecting to see whatever it was nearby.
“What?” Clay pulled a bedraggled Milky Way from his pocket and bit off a chunk.
“It’s the middle of the night,” Allie protested. “Can’t you show us tomorrow?”
“We’re going back tomorrow. And there’s no way we’ll get away from Burford and Warby then.”
“So what’s so important about whatever this is?” Andre asked.
“You’ll see.” He grinned at them. “This whole trip’s all been pretty boring, right? Don’t you want to kick things up a little? Add some excitement?”
“Where?” Steve looked suspicious.
“Up the trail. I saw it today, while I was—you know—in the woods.”
“Why didn’t you just show us then?” Allie asked. Her stomach was feeling decidedly oopsy, and being upright in the cold wasn’t helping.
“Because I didn’t want them to know I found it.” He glanced over his shoulder back toward Cabin Three. “You know how they are—they’d probably give me d
etention or something.”
“Come on, man—it’s cold. I just want to go back to bed.” Andre rubbed his jaw. “Whatever this is, it can’t be more interesting than some shut-eye.”
Joe shook his head in disgust. “I can’t believe you guys.” He fixed his gaze on Steve and Clay. “I thought you nerds loved having adventures. Don’t you want to have a real one, instead of jerking off to elf porn or whatever in your parents’ basement?”
Steve and Clay exchanged glances. They did not jerk off to elf porn in their parents’ basement (they reserved that for their respective bedrooms, since it was one of the few things they didn’t do together) but they nonetheless saw Buchanan’s point. “Okay,” Steve said. “I’m in.”
Clay, who always followed whatever Steve did, nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”
“What about the rest of you?” Joe scanned their faces. “Allie? Jaz?”
“Yeah, okay,” Jazmin drawled. “Whatever. I was hoping to have a different kind of adventure tonight, but that asshole Tony didn’t show.”
“I don’t know…” Allie said. “I’m not feeling so great.”
“It won’t take long. Maybe an hour to get up and back. If we leave now, you’ll still have like three hours to sleep.”
She sighed. “Fine. I guess.”
Joe smiled. Peer pressure could be a wonderful thing sometimes. “Great. How about you, Andre? Brit? You in?”
There had never been any question that Brittany was in. Joe had noticed her. Here he was, specifically asking her to come along with him on an adventure in the woods at night. Sure, it would have been better if they’d been alone, but even this was more than she could ever have hoped for. “I’m in,” she said, her voice coming out as a squeaky croak.
“Good girl. Andre?”
Andre, of course, couldn’t say no if everybody else had said yes. That wasn’t how high-school culture worked. He shrugged. “I’m probably gonna regret this, but let’s get going. I still want to get some sleep before the lovebirds show up to rouse us in the morning.”
Unlike his aimless, confused path from earlier in the day, this time Joe led the group unerringly to their destination.
