Wildwood Page 4

  After a time, the boxy structures of the Wastes gave way to a slope of deep green brush; Prue stepped across the northbound branch of the train tracks and found herself immersed in a lush, knee-deep thicket of ferns. The ground continued to slope upward toward the first trees that marked the boundary between the outside world and the Impassable Wilderness. Prue took a deep breath, adjusted the bag at her shoulder, and began walking into the woods.

  “Wait!” shouted Curtis. He had pulled himself up and was stumbling after her. He stopped at the barrier of trees. “You’re going in there? But that’s . . . that’s the Impassable Wilderness.”

  Ignoring him, Prue marched on. The ground was soft beneath her feet, and leaves of salal and fern whipped at her calves as she walked. “Uh-huh,” she said. “I know.”

  Curtis was at a loss for words. He crossed his arms and shouted as Prue ventured farther up the slope and into the forest: “It’s impassable, Prue!”

  Prue paused and looked around. “I seem to be passing through it okay,” she said, and kept walking.

  Curtis scampered forward so as to remain within earshot of Prue. “Well, yeah, right now, maybe, but who knows what it’s like once you’re farther in there. And these trees . . .” Here he paused and scanned one of the taller trees on the hillside, top to bottom. “Well, I have to tell you I’m not getting a very friendly vibe from them.”

  His warnings had no effect on Prue, who kept marching up the wooded slope, steadying herself on the trunks of the trees as she hiked.

  “And coyotes, Prue!” continued Curtis, scrambling up the incline but stopping at the first tree of the boundary. “They’ll tear you apart! There has to be another way to go!”

  “There isn’t, Curtis,” said Prue. “My brother’s in here somewhere, and I have to find him.”

  Curtis was shocked. “You think he’s in here?” Prue was far enough into the woods now that Curtis could barely make out the red of her scarf through the bramble of trees. Before she disappeared completely from view, Curtis took a deep breath and stepped into the woods. “Okay, Prue! I’ll help you find your brother!” he shouted.

  Prue stopped and leaned against a fir tree, taking in her verdant surroundings. As far as the eye could see, it was green. As many shades of green as Prue could imagine were draped across the landscape: the electric emerald of the ferns and the sallow olive of the drooping lichen and the stately gray-green of the fir branches. The sun was rising higher in the sky, and it streamed through the gaps of the dense wood. She looked back at Curtis, panting up the hill behind her, and kept walking.

  Prue stopped and leaned against a fir tree, taking in her verdant surroundings.

  “Wow,” said Curtis, between gasps for breath, “the kids at school are not going to believe this. I mean, no one’s ever been in the Impassable Wilderness before. Least I’ve never heard. This is wild! Look at these trees, they’re so . . . so . . . tall!”

  “Try to keep it down, Curtis,” said Prue finally. “We don’t want to alert the whole Wilderness that we’re here. Who knows what’s out there?”

  Curtis stopped and gaped. “You said ‘we,’ Prue!” he shouted, and then caught himself, repeating in a hoarse whisper, “You said ‘we’!”

  Prue rolled her eyes and turned around, jabbing a finger at Curtis. “Like I have a choice. But if you’re going to come along, you’ve got to stick by me. My brother was lost on my watch, and I’m not about to lose a stupid schoolmate too. Is that clear?”

  “Clear as . . . ,” Curtis began. He grimaced, remembering Prue’s instruction, and whispered the rest: “. . . as crystal!” He raised his hand to his brow, apparently imitating some kind of specialized salute. He looked like he was tending an eye injury.

  They walked in silence for a while; a deep gully in the trees opened up to their left, and they scrambled down the bank to the bottom, skidding on the mossy loam of the forest floor. The small trickle of a creek had cut a wash down the valley of the ravine and no trees grew, only short plumes of fern and shrubs. The walking was easier here, though they occasionally were forced to struggle underneath some of the low fallen trees that crisscrossed the ravine. The sunlight dappled the ground in hazy patterns, and the air felt pure and untouched to Prue’s cheeks. As she walked, she wondered at the majesty of the place, her fears subsiding with every step in this incredible wilderness. Birds sang in the looming trees above the ravine, and the underbrush was periodically disturbed by the sudden skitter of a squirrel or a chipmunk. Prue couldn’t believe that no one had ever ventured this far into the Impassable Wilderness; she found it a welcoming and serene place, full of life and beauty.

  After a time, Prue was pulled from her meditations by the voice of Curtis, whispering, “So what’s the plan?”

  She paused. “What?”

  He whispered louder, “I said, what’s the plan?”

  “You don’t have to whisper.”

  Curtis looked nonplussed. “Oh,” he said, in his regular voice, “I thought you said we had to keep our voices down.”

  “I said to keep it down, but you don’t have to whisper.” She looked around her and said, “I’m not quite sure what we’d be hiding from anyway.”

  “Coyotes, maybe?” offered Curtis.

  “I think coyotes only come out at night,” said Prue.

  “Oh, right, I read that somewhere,” Curtis said. “Do you think we’ll be done before night comes?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Where do you think your brother is?”

  The question, simple as it was, made Prue blanch. It was dawning on her that the job of finding Mac might be harder than it had initially seemed. On second thought, had she even considered what she was going to do once she’d made it into the Impassable Wilderness? It was one thing to brave the journey but—what now? Improvising, she said, “I don’t really know. The birds disappeared around—”

  Curtis interrupted her. “Birds? What birds?”

  “The birds that kidnapped my brother. Crows, actually. A whole flock of ’em. A murder. Did you know that? That a flock of crows is called a murder?”

  Curtis’s face had dropped. “What do you mean, birds kidnapped your brother?” he stammered. “Like, birds?”

  Prue flared her eyes and said, “Try to keep up here, Curtis. I have no idea what is going on, but I’m not insane and I have to believe what I saw. So if you’re going to come along, you’re going to have to believe this stuff too.”

  “Wow,” said Curtis, shaking his head. “Okay, I’m there. I’m with you. Well, how are we going to find out where these birds went?”

  “I saw them dive into the woods in the hills above the Railroad Bridge, and I didn’t see them fly back out, so I have to assume they’d be around here somewhere.” She studied the world around her: The forest seemed limitless and unchanging, the ravine ascending along the hill as far as the eye could see. The word hopeless suddenly sprang to mind. She pushed it away. “I guess we’ll just have to keep searching and hope for the best.”

  “Does he understand English?” asked Curtis.

  “What?”

  “Your brother. If we called for him, would he answer?”

  Prue thought for a moment and said, “Nah. He speaks his own weird language. He babbles pretty loudly, but I’m not sure he’d respond if we started yelling his name.”

  “Tough,” said Curtis, scratching his head. He looked up at Prue sheepishly. “Not to change the subject or anything,” he said, “but you didn’t happen to bring any food along, did you? I’m kinda hungry.”

  Prue smiled. “Yeah, I’ve got some stuff.” She sat down on a broken tree limb and swung her messenger bag over her shoulder. “You like gorp?”

  Curtis’s face brightened. “Oh yeah! I’d kill some of that right now.”

  They sat on the log together and scooped handfuls of the trail mix into their mouths, looking out over the brambly ravine. They talked about school, about their sad, boozy English teacher, Mr. Murphy, who had teared up whil
e reading Captain Cat’s opening monologue in Under Milk Wood.

  “I was out that day,” said Curtis. “But I heard about it.”

  “People were so cruel about it, behind his back,” said Prue. “I didn’t get it. I mean, it’s a really pretty bit, huh?”

  “Hmm,” said Curtis. “I didn’t get that far.”

  “Curtis, it’s like in the first ten pages,” snorted Prue, tossing another handful of peanuts into her mouth.

  They started talking about their favorite books. Curtis briefly profiled his favorite X-Men mutant, and Prue playfully teased him before admitting a certain envy for Jean Grey’s telekinesis.

  “So why’d you stop?” asked Curtis after a pause.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, remember, in fifth grade, we used to pass pictures to each other? Of superheroes? You did really good biceps. I totally ripped off your bicep technique.” Curtis was shyly looking down into the bag of gorp, fishing through the raisins and peanuts for the M&Ms.

  Prue felt castigated. “I don’t know, Curtis,” she said finally. “I guess I just lost interest in that stuff. I still like drawing, I like drawing a lot. Just different stuff. Getting older, I guess.”

  “Yeah,” said Curtis. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Botanical drawing, that’s sort of my thing now. You should try it.”

  “Botanical? What, like drawing plants and things?” He was incredulous.

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll try it sometime. Find a leaf to draw.” He spoke quietly, almost despondently.

  Prue glanced down at the log they were sitting on. A wild tangle of ivy had claimed the territory; scarcely any of the wood’s bark could be seen below the green leaves. It looked as if the ivy itself had been the reason for the tree’s toppling. “Look at these ivy leaves,” she said, trying on the tone of an art teacher. “How the little white lines make designs against the green of the leaf. The more detail you get into, the more fun it gets.”

  Curtis shrugged. He tugged at one of the vines. It clung to the bark tenaciously, like some obstinate animal. Letting go, he quietly reached back into the bag of gorp for another handful.

  Prue tried to lighten the mood. “Hey,” she said pointedly. “Stop picking through for the chocolate. That’s so illegal.”

  Embarrassed, Curtis smiled and passed the bag back to her

  After they’d finished half the bag, Prue produced her bottle of water and took a slug. She handed it to Curtis, and he took a drink too. The early morning light dimmed as a gray bank of clouds blew in above the trees and covered the sun.

  “Let’s keep moving,” said Prue.

  They continued marching up the ravine, grabbing fistfuls of ivy to steady themselves as the ground steepened below them. The creek bed, which seemed like it would carry a lot of water during the winter and spring, was shallow and mostly dry, and they soon found the going easier if they used it as a makeshift trail. The wash flattened out at the crest of a hill, and they were again standing in the midst of the trees on a slight plateau.

  “I have to pee,” said Prue.

  “Okay,” said Curtis, distractedly staring back down the ravine.

  “So go over there,” said Prue, pointing to a thicket of bracken, “and don’t look.”

  “Oh!” said Curtis. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll give you some privacy.”

  Prue waited until he was out of sight through the branches, found a spot behind a tree, and squatted. Just as she was finishing she heard an unintelligible rasp coming from the thicket. She quickly buttoned her jeans and cautiously came around the tree; there was no one there.

  “Prue!” repeated the rasp. It was Curtis.

  “Curtis, I said you didn’t have to whisper,” she said, relieved it was him.

  “C-come here!” Curtis sputtered, still whispering. “And keep quiet!”

  Prue walked over toward his voice, pushing her way through a tangle of vines. On the other side of the thicket, Curtis was hunched down and staring into the distance.

  “Look there!” he whispered, and pointed.

  Prue blinked and stared. “What—” she began, before she was interrupted by Curtis.

  “Coyotes,” said Curtis. “And they’re talking.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Denizens of the Wood

  The ground fell away from the edge of the thicket at a steep grade, creating a kind of promontory over a small meadow amid the trees. In the middle of the clearing was a gathering of roughly a dozen figures, collected around the remnants of what appeared to be a campfire. From the distance, it was difficult to make out details, but the figures were definitely coyotes: They were covered in a matted gray fur and their haunches were thin. Some prowled around the smoldering campfire on all fours, while others stood on hind legs and sniffed at the air with their long gray snouts. However, there were two rather startling aspects of the scene: One, they all seemed to be wearing matching red uniforms with tall, plumed helmets on their heads, and two, they were definitely talking to one another. In English.

  The coyotes spoke in a brittle, yapping timbre, and they punctuated their sentences with snarls and barks, but Prue and Curtis could occasionally make out what they were saying.

  “You’re pathetic!” shouted one of the larger coyotes, baring his yellow teeth at one of his smaller compatriots. “I request a simple fire and you idiots can’t get a single ember alight.” Some of the animals had what appeared to be sheathed sabers attached to belts around their waists, while others stood leaning against tall, bayonet-topped rifles. This larger coyote rested his paw on the ornate pommel of a long, curved sword.

  The coyote to whom this tirade was addressed was skulking in the grass and whinging little yelps in response.

  “This platoon is not fit to serve,” continued the larger one, “if it cannot complete a simple routine scouting drill.” He looked about him at the rest of the group.

  Curtis whispered to Prue: “Are they . . . soldiers?”

  She nodded slowly, still deeply in shock.

  “And look at the filthy condition of your uniforms,” howled the larger coyote, who Prue assumed to be a commander of some sort. His dress was marginally cleaner than that of his soldiers, and his shoulders were ornamented with epaulets. He wore a kind of large feathered hat that Prue thought she recognized from a documentary about Napoleon their world history teacher had shown them. The commander continued, “I should bring you before the Dowager Governess in this state and see how she’d receive you.” He snapped his jaws at another coyote, who was cowering on the ground behind him. “She’d cast you out of Wildwood, is what she’d do, and we’d see how you fared without your pack.” He stiffened and adjusted his sword handle at his side and said, “I have half a mind to do it myself, but I’d rather not soil my hind feet booting you out into the brush.”

  The coyote at whom the commander had been yelling finally spoke words between his abashed yelps: “Yes, Commandant. Thank you, Commandant.”

  “And where was your confounded guard detail?” the commander barked, pacing the ground. “I walked up without a single soul batting an eyelash. You are an embarrassment to the corps, a stain on the legacy of every soldiering coyote who’s come before you.”

  “Yes, Commandant,” was the response from the cowering coyote.

  The commander sniffed the air and said, “It’ll be dark soon. Let’s finish this drill and head back to camp. You, and you!” Here he pointed at two of the soldiers who were standing at attention by the campfire. “Get into the brush and start collecting firewood. I’ll get this fire started if I have to throw one of you into the pit for kindling!”

  The group burst into activity with this command. Curtis and Prue eased themselves flat to the ground and froze under the fronds of a particularly large stand of ferns. A few coyotes began circling out from the group in search of firewood while others stood in formation in the center of the meadow and continued to be berated by the commander.

&nbs
p; “What do we do if they see us?” hissed Curtis as a few of the coyotes walked closer to them.

  “Just keep quiet,” whispered Prue. Her heart was racing in her chest.

  Two of the coyotes wandered over to a pile of scrub right below Curtis and Prue’s perch and began collecting branches of deadfall in their spindly arms. They were snapping at each other while they worked, and Prue held her breath as she listened to their canine bickering.

  “It’s your fault we’re in this mess, Dmitri,” said one coyote to the other. “My usual detail is never this incompetent. It’s embarrassing.”

  The other, bent down among the branches, said, “Oh, shut up, Vlad. You were the one who insisted everyone ‘mark the territory’ everywhere. Never seen so much pee in one place. No wonder the stupid fire wouldn’t start.”

  Vlad waved a birch branch in Dmitri’s face, his eyes wide in anger. “That’s—that’s the blasted protocol! Check your field manual. Or can you even read?”

  Dmitri dropped his load of firewood and bared his teeth. The coyotes were close enough now that Prue could see his lips snarl back to reveal a frightful set of chipped yellow teeth emerging from his bright red gums. “I’ll show you protocol!” shouted Dmitri. They both stood silent for a moment until Vlad spoke up.