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Forest Light

Don Stockard

    Amy swore silently to herself. It would do no good to swear out loud. There was no one to appreciate the occasion, and that was the problem. She was alone, and she was alone because she was lost. She looked at the large fir trees that surrounded her. It was not a dense thicket, and there was little underbrush. It would have been better if there were. She would have been forced to remain on the trail, instead of wandering cross-country.
    The sun had set, and it would soon be dark. She felt panic rising. Something deep within her told her to run. It didn’t matter in what direction. The important thing was to run. With difficulty she silenced the inner screaming and sank to the ground, her back against the trunk of a tree. She closed her eyes and forced a semblance of control in her mind.
    Regret replaced her panic — regret she had come on the outing in the first place. It had sounded nice — a few days in the woods with friends and a chance to get away from it all. How was she to know Derek would be along? She hadn’t seen him since the night they had broken up and that was over a year ago, but there he was as big as life, sporting a new woman. It wasn’t seeing him that bothered her or even the new woman. It was the realization that she still cared. She had, over the past year, carefully convinced herself she didn’t. Amy despised surprises, especially about herself. Pushing the thoughts of Derek aside, she returned to her predicament.
    She opened her eyes and took in the scene before her. Trees. The blue sky. At least it wasn’t raining. She mentally tried to retrace her route. It was hopeless. She had purposefully separated from the group. Wandering aimlessly, she followed a bird or stopped to investigate an interesting mushroom — anything to keep her mind occupied.
    She had passed a lake, several streams, and a few ponds, but where and their relationships were tangled. She told herself the worst that could happen was she would spend the night in the forest. The others would miss her, and a search would start in the morning. She smiled grimly. It was not only the worst scenario, but it was also the only scenario.
    The panic started to rise again. She fought it down. It was late summer, and the days were still warm. The night would be cold, but not freezing. Her light jacket would be inadequate, but she would not freeze to death — just be miserable. Amy was not into misery. Mild discomfort for a good reason maybe, but misery, especially as a result of stupidity, was unacceptable.
    For the first time in her life she regretted not smoking. For if she smoked, she would have matches or a lighter. A minimum of precaution, she reflected, would have seen a flashlight and matches in her pack. Amy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She had to remain calm at all cost. She resolved to spend the night where she was. Wandering around would at the best be useless and at the worst dangerous. Tripping over a fallen log or stepping into a hole could leave her with a sprained ankle or a broken leg.
    She focused on keeping her mind occupied with thoughts other than her predicament. A task she found more difficult as the darkness deepened and the temperature dropped. The stars were a welcome distraction. The absence of the moon enhanced the display. Patches of the Milky Way shown through the trees, stretching across the sky like a silent, diaphanous river.
    The last time she’d seen the Milky Way in all its glory was with Derek. She frowned and refused to relive the experience and diverted herself by picking out constellations. Since she knew very few by sight, her diversion was short-lived. Nevertheless, she continued the game by making up and naming her own. It reminded her of when she was a child. She had spent hours on summer days lying in the backyard and letting her imagination bring the clouds to life. There were two differences. It was easier to build on the shapes of clouds, and the summer days had been considerably warmer.
    It was several hours after sundown when her constellation game played out. It was cold, colder than she had anticipated. Sitting stoically under a tree was no longer practical. She rose, stamped her feet, and swung her arms. The exercise eased her chill. She realized how lucky she was that there was no wind. Amy worked out five days a week at the gym and was in reasonably good physical condition; nevertheless, after an hour of heat generating exercises she began to tire.
    She was about to halt for a rest when a noise froze her, right foot in the air and arms stretched out horizontally in front of her. Her eyes were riveted toward the sound, which was to the front and slightly to the left. The noise had been indistinct, not the obvious snapping of a twig or the snorting of an animal. A rustling. The wings of a bird or a footstep on the sandy soil? She remained in her awkward position, staring into the night and listening intently.
    The forest was pitch black and deathly still. Slowly she dropped her foot and lowered her arms. She was tense, ready to run. The logical part of her brain was completely frozen. It was not available to remind her that headlong flight would be dangerous. Her only functioning faculties were deep in the primitive brain, the part that had told emerging man to flee the saber-toothed cat.
    Three things happened simultaneously. She heard a louder noise, she screamed, and something grabbed her left wrist. She convulsed in terror and pulled back, but whatever was in the blackness held her wrist in a vice-like grip. She continued to writhe like a fish on a line, and her high-pitched screams split the night. Her mind detached and floated someplace above, sensing the scene as it unfolded. The mind noticed Amy’s violent struggles and then felt the jolt as she was yanked off her feet. The mind felt her being dragged first on her side and then on her back.
    “Stop!” she screamed, uttering the first intelligible word since the episode began. “Let me go!” The words brought her mind back to its customary home in her skull. It celebrated its return with a cascade of panic-driven thoughts. It’s going to murder me! I’m going to be raped! Maybe it’s not even human! Maybe it’s going to eat me!
    A vivid mental image of an artist’s conception of Bigfoot pulsated before her inner eye. Whatever was dragging her had to be incredibly strong. She lurched to her feet and tried to break the grip. Her abductor jerked her off her feet without breaking stride.
    “Please. Let me go! Let me go!” There was no response. “Why are you torturing me? For God’s sake do whatever you’re going to do without dragging me!” She began to sob hysterically, her tears driven alternately by terror and rage. Her shoulder ached from the force of being dragged. Her eyes stung from the sand, and she could feel the grit in her teeth. She bounced over rocks and against trees. She must be, she knew, bruised and bloody.
    She staggered first to her knees and then to her feet to avoid the pain of being dragged. The relief was immediate. Although she stumbled frequently and ran into branches, the pain was considerably less than that of being dragged. She alternated between sobbing, cursing, and pleading. The response was always the same — silence.
    Amy had no idea how long she marched through the forest behind her abductor. She tried to make out her captor in the feeble starlight, but she could only see a dark, indistinct mass in front of her. The hand — and it was a hand — that gripped her wrist was callused and hard. Given the sketchy data, she could deduce little, not that her powers of deduction were functioning particularly well. Slowly her terror and anger gave way to exhaustion. She fell frequently and only with difficulty regained her footing.
    A root grabbed her ankle and sent her headlong into the sand. She struggled to rise and then realized her abductor was no longer moving. Although he still held her wrist, there was no tension on the arm. She collapsed, panting. Her hand fell beside her. He had released her. She was too tired to flee. She felt something cover her. It took her confused mind several moments to realize it was a blanket.
    He’s going to rape me, she thought. She felt no fear. It was merely a fact to be noted and filed.
    Nothing happened. There was no sound and nothing other than the blanket touched her. She tried to raise her head but lacked the energy. A few questioning thoughts drifted through her mind and then she was asleep.
    The next time Amy opened her eyes it was light. At first she wasn’t sure where she was. Then she remembered the outing and Derek. “That’s right,” she muttered. “Derek and lost. Dragged. Dragged for hours.” She wondered if the whole experience had been a nightmare. Maybe she was in the cabin. She started to move and halted as pain shot through every part of her body. She felt the sandy soil beneath her hands. She was not, she knew, in a cabin.
    Amy lay still for several minutes, mustering her courage to move again. Curiosity tinged with fear eventually drove her to stir. Perhaps her abductor was nearby, watching. With considerable effort she managed to sit up. The sun was well above the horizon. She blinked in the unaccustomed light and glanced to either side. There was no sign of anyone or anything.
    She looked at the blanket. It was of heavy, coarsely woven wool. Wincing with pain, she managed to stand up, letting the blanket drop. Gasping, she staggered to the nearest tree for support. Her arms were covered with scratches, lacerations, bruises, dried blood, and grime. She assumed her face was the same. She ran her tongue over her teeth. They were all present and accounted for. At least there were no noticeable gaps.
    She looked around again, this time more carefully. Convinced no one was lurking nearby, her eyes went further afield. She was in a clearing on the top of a rounded knoll. Below was a lodge beside a large lake. People were dining on the deck. Fishermen dotted the bank, and canoes glided through the water. Amy took a deep breath, which made her wince, and let it out slowly. She took a few tentative steps. It was painful but not unduly so. A sign, she assumed, that nothing was broken. She scanned the ground, looking for tracks or some sign of what had brought her here. There were a number of formless marks in the sand, but nothing she could identify.
    She looked at the lodge and smiled slightly, thinking of the stir she would cause staggering onto the deck. She wondered if the people would even speak her language. Perhaps Derek and his new woman would be there. The thought struck her as funny — funny enough to endure the pain of laughter.
    She started to descend, halted, and returned to the summit. She picked up the blanket, shook it, folded it neatly, and placed it on a rock. Satisfied, she walked down the hill.

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