Enchanted Forests (14 page)

excitement. Overactive imagination. Go lie down in your tent."

She staggered off, still sobbing.

Ketton's hand tightened on Angle's; he pulled her away.

"Angie," he said softly into her ear, "she's right."

"What do you know, Kel? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't believe what I saw-1 couldn't tell you—let alone Dr.

Stoker—that I saw Malcolm and David turn into trees."

"But Ket...."

"Angie." Dr. Stoker beckoned her over. "I admit we need

help. I don't want to send out search parties if they come back

with stories like that. But I need you here. Could Kelton... ?"

"I'm not leaving Angie." Kelton had that stubborn look on his

face. No one had ever changed his mind when he got stubborn.

"Then what can we do?" Dr. Stoker grabbed her shoulders. "I

92                  Julia and Brook West

could lose my career over this mess! We've got to think of some-

thing."

Angie pulled away from Dr. Stoker, stepped back to put

Kelton between them. "Is that all you're worried about—your

career? There are eight people missing!" She turned to go.

"Come on, Kel, let's get the last search party." She started into

the forest.

"Angie, wait!" Kelton took her arm. "I've got an idea." He led

her to the tent, pulled her inside. They faced each other cross-

legged on the rumpled sleeping bags. "Do you believe we saw

people turn into trees?"

"I .., I don't know. I know you both saw something awfully

disturbing."

"Anj, we've got the minicam! We can record this whatever-

it-is. ..."

"And turn into trees ourselves?" She couldn't help herself.

"Listen, Angie. People are seeing something. And it's the

seeing that does ... whatever it does. Remember the myth of

Perseus and Medusa? He looked into his shield—used it like a

mirror—so he wouldn't get turned to stone."

"So you think the minicam... ?"

"Through the minicam you're looking at an image, not the

thing itself. And I'll use one of our metal survival mirrors. That

way we'll be safe."

"Kel, at this point I'll try anything. Because ..," her lips

started to tremble, and she caught her lower one between her

teeth, "because dammit, I'm terrified."

The forest was still in the midday heat; occasional insect

noises made Angie jump. She turned on the video camera, pat-

ting her pocket to assure herself the extra battery pack was there.

"Got your mirror?" she asked Kelton.

"Yeah- Wish I had a bigger one. I'm gonna fall over my feet

trying to look into this thing as I walk."

"I'll trade you."

"No."

Angie looked at him out of the comer of her eye; he had that

stubborn look on his face.

They walked over the sparse grass under the trees for a long

time. Angie swung the camera from a clump of Oregon grape to

an oddly twisted aspen, trying to still her trembling hands. Her

stomach knotted with fear. What if this doesn't work? What if

something really is turning people into trees?

WEEDS                93

Kelton made a strange, choked noise in his throat, and she

swung the camera to focus on him. He stared into his mirror, an

intent look, half surprise, on his face. "Those eyes!" he said.

Even as he spoke, his mouth twisted, his face lengthened. The

mirror dropped from lingers that elongated, sprouted twigs,

leaves.

"No, oh no, oh please." Angie didn't lower me minicam even

as tears dripped down her cheeks. She recorded her beloved's en-

tire metamorphosis; roots digging into the soft earth, branches

tearing through his clothing and rising from his brown hair. Her

stomach lurched and her knees shook with anguish—but she kept

the camera focused-

It was over. An aspen swayed slightly without benefit of

breeze, torn clothing half buried beneath its roots. Thousands of

coin-shaped leaves winked like semaphores sending a message in

an unknown language. "Ketton, Kelton, no," she sobbed. She

slowly turned, camera running, panned past every tree, wild-

flower and low-growing bush. Somewhere on this tape should

be the answer. If not ... She couldn't finish the thought. Life

without Kelton?

Angie huddled in her tent, watching the minicam's tiny black-

and-white screen. She rewound the tape again, began the se-

quence. Kelton's face, intent and surprised, his mouth moving,

then twisting. Nothing there. He was looting at it, she was tap-

ing him. Whatever it was, she hadn't taped it.

No, wait. The thing was behind him—he saw it in the mirror!

She rewound, watched slender trees bob through the field of

view. The picture shifted to Kelton's face. And behind him—a

flash of movement. A bush stirring in the breeze? But there was

no breeze.

Rewind again, switch to slow motion, move frame by frame.

Not a bush behind Kelton. A thing, as if a pile of autumn leaves

had humped into vaguely human shape, with twiggy teem, and

bleached branch homs rising from its temples. Its eyes glittered

even in the tiny black and white replay. "Those eyes,' he had

said. It was real, a monster that turned people into trees.

Angie wanted to close her eyes and scream and scream. Her

hands trembled as she switched the minicam off and laid it on

her sleeping bag. What now? Hunt the thing down? What would

kill it—fire? Chase it with a torch, like a villager in a Franken-

stein movie?

"Angie?"

94                  Julia and Brook West

Oh, please, not now. Dr. Stoker. "Yes?" She was pleased that

her voice was steady.

"Where's Kelton?"

/ can't tell him. He won't believe me. He'll laugh. I have proof,

but 1 don't want to show it to him.... "He decided to go for help

after all."

"Can I come in?"

Every fiber of her being screamed no, but she had to be polite.

And after her He, she could hardly tell him she was mourning her

lost husband. "Sure."

He slid through the zippered door-slit, settled on Kelton's

sleeping bag. His presence made the hot, close air even more op-

pressive. Angie bit her lips to keep herself from ordering him

out.

"I'm glad Kelton decided to go for help. I Just don't know

what to make of all this. There's no sign of violence or

struggle—just torn clothing to hint at what's happening." He

leaned forward and patted her knee. "I know you've done your

best—I'm sorry I barked at you earlier."

"Yeah."

"Listen, Angie, I know you're a newlywed, and Kelton is a

very attractive man, but I could help you a lot if you'd just be

a little more ... friendly."

Angie couldn't believe it. To come seeking sexual favors at a

time like this! The nerve of him.

"I've never been unfriendly," she answered, struggling in-

wardly. If I slap him, he'll be my enemy forever.

"Don't play naive, Angie. You know what I mean. You won't

even call me by my first name." He reached forward, stroked one

finger down her arm.

"Sir, I am, as you mentioned, a married woman. I don't feel

any need for other ... companionship." She looked him straight

in the eye.

"I can make it very pleasant for you." He smiled, smoothed

his hair, and reached for her breast.

This had gone beyond nerve. Something snapped inside her.

"Listen, you ... bastard! All the grad students know about you.

Can't keep your hands off the women! Well, this is one student

you'll not touch again."

"Why you...."

"And don't threaten me about my dissertation. I'll finish, with

or without you. There's a law against sexual harassment, and I'm

not too shy to engage a lawyer."

WEEDS                95

"If you ever get out of this valley." His smile turned ugly, and

she felt a twinge of purely physical fear. He was much bigger

than she.

"You try anything, and I'll squash you like ... like a weed."

Light burst in her mind. A weed. That thing had looked like a

heap of leaves—would the herbicide harm it, kill it? She scram-

bled past Stoker, avoiding his reaching arms, and rolled out of

the tent.

Herbicide, that was it. The cans lay in the boulder heap where

Kelton had dropped them yesterday afternoon. First lose Stoker.

She ran behind a tree, crouching in the low-lying brush. He'll

probably think I'm so upset I'll run blindly into the woods.

Stoker surged out of the tent, glanced around, then stalked

through camp, looking into tents. Angie's heart pounded. The

camp was deserted. Were they the only two left?

When he disappeared behind a tree she wasted no time. Keep-

ing under cover as best she could, she ran for the west end of the

valley. There, the herbicide. She checked the little backpack

sprayer, heavy, sloshing—Stoker didn't want to miss a chance to

exterminate his noxious weeds. She pumped the handle to pres-

surize it. Now, back to where she had left... Kelton. That's the

last place she had seen the creature.

Where had they been? There, that's the low-lying mountain-

ash, and that clump of columbine. I taped them. Then what?

Landmark by landmark, she wandered through the forest.

Then, a group of trees, familiar from her replays on the minicam.

A tremor ran through the Kelton-tree when she walked past. /

didn't bring the minicam. It's back in the tent—where Stoker

might be waiting for me. What should she do? She dared not go

back.

I'll have to be very, very careful. I know what it looks like.

Glory, a motile plant. If only she could study it! How in the

world did it turn people into trees—and why? She would love to

get it into a lab, find out where it got the energy to move so

quickly. It can't be just "solar-powered"—maybe another source

of nourishment? There are carnivorous plants.... No birds or

small animals in the valley. She shivered.

Something crashed through the brush. The creature made little

or no noise—so this had to be Stoker.

"What are you doing out here?" he called as he approached

her. "You know it's dangerous."

"Doing your job," she said. "Trying to kill the thing that's

been trapping our students."

96 Julia and Brook West

"What?" His mouth stayed open, his eyes bulged. Angie heard

it this time, a sweet, seductive sound, compounded of wind

through leaves, cricket chirrs, and the endless buzz of cicadas.

It's behind me.

Stoker raised his arms, tried to take a step. Again, she saw it,

watched in horror as his fingers elongated, grew leaves, his body

slimmed and elongated, roots grew through his shoes, burying

them, to seek the nutrients beneath the soil....

She turned, ready to spray, eyes averted. If it gets me, I'll only

have a few seconds, she told herself. Don't hit the trees, just the

creature.

Where? She saw something move, sprayed it—and met its

eyes, golden-green and very alive, like flame. Music swelled

around her, soothing, welcoming. Then the creature faltered,

drenched with herbicide, and the sprayer fell from her length-

ening fingers.

Dizzy, disoriented, looking down at something very small and

odd from a great height. Rush of wind through leaves—like

voices.

There were voices. *So many people this time,* one of the old

aspens sighed.

Not really words, but emotions—thoughts. They moved

slowly, while clouds sped by; dark, then light again. Rush of en-

ergy from sunlight on leaves.

Much emotion from the next tree—no, not tree—Kelton!

*Why? Why? Angie should have run!*

Her thousand eyes, looking up, down, around. Don't think

about it all at once—too much, too much! Focus on that

tree—no, it's Stoker. As handsome a tree as he was a man—the

bastard—but Kelton was more attractive ... slender, graceful,

his leaves a distinctive silver-green.

*Angie has the loveliest bark—smooth, white,* Kelton

thought at her.

Nearby, other emotions pulled at her. *Lust,* its thoughts in-

sinuated into her being. *Submit to me. Pleasure me.*

She trembled in horror, hunching her branches away from the

Stoker-tree.

Something moved—a flicker, she should know what. Yes—the

creature. As the sun sank quickly toward the close horizon of

the valley's edge, the creature crawled toward the grove, drawn

by lust. It embraced the Stoker-tree's base, and lay quiescent,

pulsing.

*No! Leave me! Rape!*

WEEDS                97

The stars wheeled overhead, day came, and the creature

stirred, moving quickly away from the professor's trunk.

*I didn't kill it.* A wave of regret, horror, anger from Angie.

*It ... hard . . . kill.* A huge old aspen; she could just

glimpse its crown across the valley. *I ... make it. Guard valley

... years long past. I seek ... knowledge. It too ... strong.

Changed me.*

*You not-tree that time?* Another old, thick-trunked tree, its

thoughts almost as foreign as the ancient creature-maker.

*I ... man ... then.*

The conversation lasted all day. As darkness fell, the creature

crawled back to the professor-tree, who moaned. *It is poisoned.