The Trail

by Brian Francis

  “Listen,” Scott said. “I was thinking. With all the crazy shit that’s happened over the past few days, I guess I’m starting to realize how short life is. If we ever get out of here, I wanna live life to the fullest. Experience everything, you know?”

  Susan’s eyes widened and her heart thumped inside her chest. She nodded.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is…if we get home. No, when we get home. I think we should talk about having a baby.”

  Chapter One Hundred Nine

  “Thanks for the grub,” the hiker said. He exited Tucker’s Store and sat down at a picnic table next to the outside porch. Crazy store, he thought. Open late at night. Some dude in there with blood all over his face. The other guy looking like something out of Deliverance. Can’t wait to get out of PA.

  Pennsylvania had been hard for him, and not only because of the rocks. He had started to experience what many on the Appalachian Trail dubbed the hiker’s blues. His trek though New England had been filled with uncompromised joy. Excitement at every twist and turn of the trail. Sure, there were slow days, but he only had to take a step back and remind himself that he was actually hiking the trail, his life’s goal, and his depleted soul would fill anew with energy.

  The pep-talk trick stopped working somewhere in central Pennsylvania. As much as he tried to garner enthusiasm for another day on the trail, his experience devolved into just that: another day on the trail. One fucking foot in front of the other. Pennsylvania didn’t feature the cool topography of New England, nor did it boast the rolling valleys of the south that he read so much about. He sat on the picnic bench at the exact halfway point of the trail, and it felt like halfway in every sense of the word. Half hill, half valley, but nothing of note. Halfway finished, halfway to go. Traveled too far to call it quits, too far to want to go on. He wished that hiking half the trail would earn him accolades, but he knew hiking the whole thing would be the better story.

  He carried these negative thought patterns like an extra backpack, and often delved into self-doubt as he hiked. One fucking foot in front of the other. Why am I doing this? For me? Or for the praise of my friends? If he was doing it for himself, he would’ve quit in central Pennsylvania. He’d seen enough, walked enough, ached enough. The trail—he got it. He understood. No need to do the whole thing.

  The halfway point: Tucker’s Store. He’d read about the store nearly a year and a half ago, when he first started planning for his hike. He knew the tradition. Reach the store, eat a half-gallon of ice cream. But he didn’t want to. First of all, it seemed like a pointless activity if no one was there to watch you eat it. Second, he wanted to get out of the store as fast as he could. He didn’t think the owner or his blood-covered buddy had any interest in watching yet another young hiker gobble down a half gallon of ice cream and puke it back up next to the picnic bench.

  Nope, he’d do without the ice cream. A stupid tradition. He was getting sick of all the traditions. He’d stopped writing his trail name, “Wind Walker”, in the trail journals. It was a stupid name. The sort of nickname that derives when people are forced to come up with nicknames, rather than letting the thing blossom organically.

  Wind Walker. What the hell does that even mean? When he reached Pennsylvania he simply signed “Chris” in the journals. Recently, he’d stopped writing in the journals altogether. He was done with reading all the nonsense, the declarations of freedom, the Thoreau quotes, the inane weather reports, the stupid banter.

  Last night he had broken his rule and picked up the trail journal from a shelter about five miles back. He had flipped through the book with a degree of haughty scorn, until the last entry. The message wasn’t really an entry at all, but just a smattering of blood and a lock of blond hair. What the fuck was that about?

  That’s the other problem with Pennsylvania, the hiker decided. The people are dirty and dangerous and poor.

  Just north of here, the trail meandered through what appeared to be an abandoned strip mine. The trees were burned black around the yawning chasm of destruction. Other hikers he’d met along the trailed agreed: “Don’t linger in Pennsylvania,” they said. “There’s nothing to see.”

  Not only was there nothing to see, the things he did see scared him.

  “Fuck you, sheriff! Fuck you! You can’t have her!”

  The hiker turned to witness the owner of the store bursting though the door with what appeared to be a dead girl draped over his shoulder. He looked directly at the hiker, grunted, then stumbled into the darkness. A moment later the lights of a pick-up truck flashed on, followed by the loud rumble of an engine.

  The bloody man from the store appeared on the porch. “Joe! Joe! Stop!”

  The man in the pick-up gunned the engine and tore down the gravel auxiliary road, screaming out of the window, “You can’t have my daughter!”

  Chapter One Hundred Ten

  The sheriff staggered down the front steps of Tucker’s Store and leaned against a tree, drawing labored breaths in the moonlight. The hiker didn’t know whether to run or try to help. He’s a cop, for God’s sake…I should be safe. But the truth was, this cop instilled zero authority over the situation. If anything, his mangled presence unsettled the hiker even more.

  “You alright, sir? Sheriff?”

  The cop looked up. A red strand of blood dangled from his lower lip and swayed in the breeze. The whites of his eyes matched the color of the moon.

  “You okay?”

  The cop spit and straightened himself against the tree. “Where you from, kid?”

  “I’m from Texas. But I started the trail in Maine a couple months ago.”

  “Hiking it all the way?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  The cop laughed. “Jesus. Nothing better to do than walk around in the woods?”

  The hiker didn’t answer.

  The cop walked over to the auxiliary road and peered into the darkness. “He’s long gone by now.”

  “Was that girl dead? The girl he carried?”

  “Yup.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “You pass many hikers?”

  “No, not really. Just like I said. I saw that guy with the knife. Did he kill her?”

  The cop thought about it. “Not sure. Maybe. It’s hard to tell. Hard to keep track.”

  “Jesus, have there been other murders out here?”

  “Yup.”

  “Recently?”

  “Yup.”

  “What the hell is going on? You’re a cop or a sheriff or whatever. Aren’t you supposed to do something? Arrest someone?”

  The cop laughed and patted his empty holster.

  “Got my gun stolen.”

  “We have to get out of here!”

  “And leave without getting your ice cream?”

  “What?”

  “Isn’t that the tradition? Eat a half gallon of ice cream at the halfway point of the trail?”

  “Um, I don’t think I’m in the mood for ice cream.”

  “Good. Me neither, kid. What do you got in your backpack?”

  “Just hiking stuff. Tent. Sleeping bag. Clothes.”

  “Any weapons?”

  “Weapons?”

  “Yeah, like a gun? A knife? Mace? I searched the store for guns, but couldn’t find a damn one. Got some ammo, though.”

  “I got a pocket knife.”

  The cop laughed. “Well, get it out. Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re gonna hike out of here.”

  “In the middle of the night?”

  “You got a flashlight, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, turn it on, Tex.”

  They started walking down the craggy road under the stars. After a while the hiker stopped and asked the cop, “Do you think we’ll see the guy with the knife?”

  “Probably.”

  Chapter One Hundred Eleven

  A baby, a baby, a baby! He said it! I heard him say it. Now he can
’t take it back. It’s for real, right? He’s for real? A baby! I knew he’d come around. He just needed more time to mature. That’s what everyone told me, I should’ve listened. He’ll come around, they said. And he did! A baby!

  Susan sat on the stump, her head swimming. Scott stood above her. Susan thought of the time he proposed to her. Very traditional. A week before, he had secretly met with her father and asked for Susan’s hand. When he proposed to her he went down on one knee. All the right moves. Now here they were again. Only this time he was standing. And this time he was not proposing marriage, but a baby.

  “Is that how you feel, Scott? Are you sure you’re ready?”

  “Of course I’m sure. I think it’s time.”

  “What about your career? Your travel?”

  “Travel? It can wait. And after this camping trip—I don’t think I want to travel anytime soon.”

  Susan chuckled, stood up and hugged him. It felt good. She missed him. She wondered when they had last held each other. Was it right before Jack showed up with Kim at their front door? That’s when she had first noticed the distance between them. But all of that was over now. Scott was back. We are going to have a baby!

  She smiled, her head swirling from the dizzying possibilities of their future. Then she remembered the woods. She was still here. Still in the woods, in the center of a bizarre circle of trees, lost, hungry, tired, and most of all, frightened out of her mind. She hugged Scott again, this time from fear, not love.

  “Scott, what are we going to do?”

  “You can stay home with the kid. I’ll work.”

  “No. What are we going to do about here? Being stuck here. Lost. How are we going to get out?”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking about that. And I think there used to be a gravel road around here that we can follow.”

  “You’ve camped around here before?”

  Scott paused and looked up at the moon.

  “Me? No. Jack did. I guess he told me about it.”

  “Where does the road go?”

  “Out to the main road. It will take us back to the parking lot.”

  Susan thought about the parking lot and Scott’s car and their escape home. If they could just get to the car everything would come true. Her baby. Her life. Just let us stay alive, she begged to her hazy version of God. I don’t ask for much. I’ve never asked for anything. Just keep us alive. Let us get home so we can be good and start our family. I haven’t had it easy. I’ve had a lot of shitty times. Please do this one thing for me and keep us alive.

  Susan looked up at the winking stars. Her gaze dropped and she studied her surroundings for the first time. A circle. A perfect circle. Who the hell would do something like this? Susan thought of those crop circles in England. Were they man-made? She wasn’t sure. She remembered hearing a news report or something, but she couldn’t recall the details. Almost better to think that aliens had made the circles, than to imagine the sort of human freak who would carve shapes in the middle of the night.

  Is that what happened here? Some freak with a chainsaw? Jesus, these woods are evil. There’s not a normal thing in them. From that fucked-up lake, to that horrible trail. This place is pure evil. Pure evil.

  She stood up and noticed dried blood on the stump.

  Pure evil.

  Chapter One Hundred Twelve

  Alex watched Susan and Scott talking, encircled by trees. He wondered about the circle. He’d never encountered it during his college camping trips. It might have been fun, given different circumstances, to light a campfire in the center and tell ghost stories.

  He trusted Susan. She seemed honest. Pretty. She was there for him right after Ryan was killed. God, did that really happen? Was Ryan really killed? Or is this just a nightmare? Or some late night slasher flick with breasts and bad dialogue that you can turn off at any time?

  He shut his eyes to see if he could turn everything off. When he opened them, the same gloomy scene returned. The circle. The moonlight. Susan and Scott hugging, holding on to each other.

  Scott. He didn’t trust Scott. He couldn’t grasp Scott’s personality. His characteristics shifted shapes like a shadow over water. Scott certainly felt entitled to boss the both of them around.

  In the scant few hours he’d known Scott and Susan, he’d witnessed their bond vacillate dramatically, from intense anger, to moments like now—he watched them kiss and caress each other in the circle.

  He couldn’t get over the suspicion that Scott was playing Susan. Fooling her in some way. He’d known enough guys like this in college. The ones that could say the right thing just to get in a girl’s pants. Alex had never been one of those guys, but he could recognize it in others. The rolling rhythm of the conversations, the persuasive cadence they all knew how to pull off. It was a trait he loathed but also admired. Sometimes he even wished he was one of those guys.

  Watching Scott tonight made him feel sick. That slick smile was offensive. So obvious. He wondered why Susan, an otherwise smart girl, would fall for such a shallow guy.

  Why is Scott trying to trick her? They’re married. He’d presumably been in her pants plenty of times. What’s the deal? Why is Scott not being real?

  Alex looked around the forest. He could feel the pulse of night. The chirp of crickets. The soft pine needles under his boots. On another night, this evening would be a perfect one for camping. Tonight, he wished desperately to be home, safe, and in his own bed.

  He glanced in the circle again. Scott was gesticulating. Susan stood completely still with her head down. He could not hear their conversation.

  “Hey, guys,” Alex interrupted. “Let’s get going. Come on. We gotta get out of here.”

  Scott glared at Alex. Susan avoided eye contact.

  “What do you say?” Alex said. “Let’s go.”

  “In a minute,” Susan answered.

  Scott waved his arms at Susan and whispered something harsh. Susan shook her head over and over again. Then, as if resigned to a decision, she slowly nodded.

  “Tell him,” Scott said.

  “No. You tell him.”

  “Tell him, Susan!”

  Susan bowed her head and emerged from the circle of trees with tears in her eyes.

  “Alex. Scott thinks it would be better if you went your own way.”

  Chapter One Hundred Thirteen

  Sheriff Adams and the shaggy blond hiker, whom the sheriff had dubbed “Tex”, walked down the auxiliary road under the blanket of night. The sky turned to true black as the moon slipped behind clouds.

  Tex’s flashlight beam bobbed up and down in the darkness, occasionally catching the red and yellow reflectors by the side of the road. Road markers, not trail markers. Tex was glad to be off the Appalachian Trail.

  Never again, he told himself. I don’t care if I have to stumble through the woods by myself, I won’t get on that fucking trail again. He thought of the guy with the knife he’d passed hiking earlier that evening.

  As they walked, Sheriff Adams filled him in on Martin Levy, the cult of Crenson, and the murders.

  It was all so surreal, he wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen Levy walk by with that knife. If he hadn’t seen the blood on the blade in the moonlight. He shuddered when he realized that the blood he saw earlier was human blood, not deer blood.

  “Where are the rest of the cops?” Tex asked.

  “You’re looking at ’em.”

  “You mean, you’re it?”

  “Yup. One guy. Officer Bryson joined the cult. Probably the other two as well.”

  “Jesus. How can people just leave their families like that?”

  “Their families are probably in the cult, too.”

  Tex considered this answer. There was a lot about Crenson he didn’t understand.

  “Why’d you wanna be a cop in this town?”

  “Was born around here.”

  “So why didn’t you get out?”

  “Sometimes it’s not that easy.”

&nb
sp; “Why not?”

  “Well, for one thing…how can people just leave their families like that?”

  They walked on. The crunch of gravel under their shoes was the only sound. Suddenly car beams raced up the side of a tree as an engine screamed in the darkness.