Girl of Nightmares (23 page)

The phrase hits home for Thomas and Carmel, and their eyes flicker to the ground and trees around them. I’m going to be the deciding vote. If I want to try to find a way around, Jestine will come with us. Maybe I should. But I won’t. Because that ghost back at the inn wasn’t the test that the Order had planned. This is. And we’ve come this far.

“Just stay together,” I say, and the hope on Carmel’s face vanishes. “It probably won’t be anything worse than a few dead bodies. Just keep on your toes.”

We switch formation to me in the front and Jestine in the back, with Thomas and Carmel in the middle. As we pass by the second sign, I can’t help but feel like we’re walking into a black hole. But that’s a feeling I should probably get used to.

*   *   *

Ten tense minutes pass before we catch our first glimpse. Carmel gasps, but it’s just a pile of scattered bones, a rib cage and most of an arm, taken over by moss.

“It’s okay,” Thomas whispers while I keep an eye on it to make sure it isn’t going to reassemble.

“It’s not,” Carmel whispers back. “It’s worse. I don’t know why it’s worse, but it is.”

She’s right. The beauty of the forest has been stripped. There’s nothing here but misery and silence. It seems impossible that anyone would want to spend their last moments here, and I wonder whether the woods lure them in with false breezes and sunlight, wearing a mask of peace, the whole damned system of roots and hanging branches preying on people like a spider.

“We’ll be through before long,” Jestine says. “It can’t be much more than a mile now. Just keep heading northeast.”

“She’s right,” I say, stepping over a fallen log. “A half hour more and we’ll be out.” Another body pops up in my peripheral vision, something fresher, still clothed and in one piece. It’s hanging against the trunk of the tree. I can just see the side of it, and I keep my eyes trained forward even while I watch for movement, for the broken neck to jerk suddenly in our direction. Nothing. We pass by and it’s just another body. Just a lost soul.

The march goes on, and we try to keep our footsteps quiet while at the same time wanting to run. There are bodies upon bodies in these woods, some in piles and some scattered in separate pieces. Someone in a suit and tie lay down against a fallen log and lies there still, his jaw yawning open and his eye sockets black. I want to reach back and take Carmel’s hand. We should find a way to anchor to each other.

“Tell me again why you’re going through all this,” Jestine says from the back. “Gideon has told me some, and then Thomas told me more. But tell me again. Why all this trouble, for a dead girl?”

“That dead girl saved our lives,” I reply.

“So I hear. But that just means you light a candle and give her a nod every now and then. It doesn’t mean you cross an ocean and walk through the forest of the dead just to find a way to the other side to pull her back out again. She did it on purpose, didn’t she?”

I glance around. There are no bodies visible, for the moment. “Not like these,” I say. “She did what she had to. And she wound up someplace she doesn’t belong.”

“Wherever she is, it is what she has made it,” Jestine says. “You know that, don’t you? You know that where she is, it’s not what most people think of as Heaven or Hell. Just outside. Outside of everything. Outside of rules, and logic, and laws. It has no value, good or bad. Right or wrong.”

I walk faster, even though my legs feel reliable as cooked noodles. “How do you know?” I ask, and she laughs breathlessly.

“I don’t. It’s just what I’ve been taught; what I’ve been told.”

I glance over my shoulder at Thomas, who shrugs.

“Every doctrine has its own theory,” he says. “Maybe they’re all right. Maybe none are. Whatever, I’m no philosopher.”

“Well, what would Morfran say?”

“He’d say we’re all idiots for walking through the Suicide Forest. Are we still going the right way?”

“Yeah,” I say, but as soon as he asks, I’m no longer sure. The light is funny here, and I can’t track the sun. It feels like we’ve been walking a straight line, but a line can curve all the way back on itself if you walk it far enough. And we’ve been walking for a long time.

“So,” Jestine says after a few minutes of tense silence. “You were all friends with this dead girl?”

“Yes,” Carmel says. Her tone is clipped. She’d like Jestine to shut up. Not because she’s offended, but because she’d rather all our attention be on the trees and corpses. But so far, they’re just corpses. Acre after acre of decomposing bodies. It’s unsettling, but not dangerous.

“And maybe more than friends?”

“Do you have an issue with this, Jestine?” Carmel asks.

“No,” Jestine replies. “Not really. It’s just that I wonder what’s the point? Even if you don’t die trying, and you somehow manage to get her back—it’s not as though she and Cas can settle down and raise a family.”

“Can we just shut up and get through the death woods?” I snap, and keep my eyes straight ahead. What are we talking about this for, when there are people hanging from branches like goddamn Christmas tree ornaments? Concentrating on the present moment seems more important than waxing theoretical.

Jestine doesn’t shut up. She keeps on chattering, just not to me. Instead she talks to Thomas, quietly, small talk of Morfran and magic. Maybe she does it to prove that I’m not the boss of her. But I think she’s doing it to mask her growing nervousness. Because we’ve been walking for far too long, and there’s no end in sight. Still, our legs keep moving forward, and the unified thought is that it can’t be much farther. Maybe if we think it hard enough, it’ll turn out to be true.

We have to have gone another half mile before Carmel finally whispers, “We’re not going the right way. We should have been there by now.”

I wish she hadn’t said anything. There’s a light sheen of panic sweat on my forehead. For at least the last five minutes, I’ve been thinking the same thing. We’ve gone way too far. Either Jestine was wrong when she told us the distance, or the Suicide Forest is stretching its dimensions. The pulse in my throat says it’s the latter, that we’ve walked into it and it isn’t letting go. After all, it could be that no one intends to kill themselves here. They just do it after the woods drive them insane.

“Stop,” Carmel says, and grabs the back of my shirt. “We’re going in circles.”

“We aren’t going in circles,” I say. “We might be completely screwed, but I know that much. I’ve been walking in a straight line, and the last time I checked, both of my legs were the same length.”

“Look,” she says. Her arm shoots out over my shoulder, pointing into the trees. Off to our left, a corpse hangs against a trunk, strung up by black nylon rope. It’s wearing a canvas vest and a tattered brown t-shirt. One of its feet is missing.

“We’ve seen it before. It’s the same one. I remember. We’re going around in circles. I don’t know how, but we are.”

“Shit.” She’s right. I remember that one too. But I have no idea how we’ve managed to double back on ourselves.

“That’s not possible,” says Thomas. “We would’ve felt it, if we’d curved around that far.”

“I’m not walking this again.” Carmel shakes her head. Her eyes are wild, ringed with white. “We have to try another way. Another direction.”

“There’s only one way to the Order,” Jestine interjects, and Carmel wheels on her.

“Well, maybe we’re not getting to the Order!” Her voice quiets. “Maybe we were never supposed to.”

“Don’t panic,” is all I can think to say. It’s all that’s important. I don’t understand how these trees are stretching. I don’t understand how I was put so far off track that I’ve wound up back at the beginning. But I do know that if any one of us panics now, that’ll be it. Whoever runs first will let the fear out of everyone else, like a gunshot, and we will run. We’ll be lost and maybe separated before we even know what we’re doing.

“Oh, shit.”

“What?” I ask, looking at Thomas. His eyes are big as eggs behind his glasses. He’s looking off over my shoulder.

I turn around. The corpse is still there, hanging from the tree, the lower jaw half dropping off and the skin sagging. My eyes scan the scenery and nothing moves. The corpse just hangs. Only—I blink a second—it’s bigger. Except that it isn’t bigger. It’s closer.

“It moved,” Carmel whispers, and grabs on to my sleeve. “It wasn’t there before. It was there.” She points. “It was farther away; I’m sure of it.”

“Maybe not,” says Jestine. “Maybe it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you.” Sure. It’s a reasonable explanation, and one that doesn’t make me want to piss myself and run screaming. We’ve been in this forest for too long, that’s all. Reality is starting to bend.

Something behind us moves, shuffling through the leaves and snapping twigs. We spin on instinct; it’s the first noise the trees have made since we walked into them. Whatever it is it’s not close enough to see. A few of the ferns attached to a large ash seem like they might be wavering, but I can’t tell if they really are, or if my head’s making it up.

“Turn around!”

Thomas’s shout makes my scalp tighten as I spin. The body has moved again. It’s at least three trees closer, and this time it’s hanging toward us. The bleary, decomposing eyes regard us with something that’s almost interest. Behind us, the trees whisper again, but I don’t turn to look. I know what would happen. The next time I turn back, those whitened eyes might be inches from my face.

“Circle up,” I say, my voice as in control as I can manage. Our time is limited. The movement in the trees is all around now, and it isn’t stopping. All of the corpses we passed before are on their way. They must’ve been stalking us the whole time, and I don’t like to think of their heads turning to stare after our backs as we went.

“Keep your eyes open,” I tell them when I feel their shoulders press against mine. “We’ll go as fast as we can, but be careful. Don’t stumble.” On my back left, I feel Carmel bend down and hear her pick up what must be a thick stick off the ground. “The good news is we haven’t gone in a circle. So we’ll be out of here before long.”

“Some fucking good news,” Carmel snaps sarcastically, and despite everything I crack a smile. Whenever she gets scared, she gets so pissed.

We start off, moving as a unit, hesitant at first, and then faster. But not fast enough to look like we’re in a hurry. These things would like nothing better than to chase us.

“There’s another one,” says Thomas, but I keep my eyes on the bleary-eyed dude. “Shit, there’s another.”

“And two more on my side,” Jestine adds. “It’s too fast to track. They just appear, in the corner of my eye.”

As we go, I finally have to look ahead, taking my gaze off of Johnny Milk-Eyes. I hope someone else picks him up, but when I see the other three corpses, two hanging in the trees before us and one resting against a far-off trunk, I know that we just don’t have enough eyes.

“This isn’t going to work,” Jestine says.

“How far is it to the edge of the woods?” Carmel asks. “Could we run?”

“They’d just pick us off, one by one. I don’t want to turn my back on them,” says Thomas.

But turning our backs is inevitable. The question is how to do it. Do I try to cut a path? Or do we all go together? The trio of dead things ahead of us stares at me with black sockets. Their expressionless faces are like a dare. I’ve never seen corpses look so
eager
, like dogs waiting to be taken off their leashes.

Carmel screams; there’s a sharp whack from the stick she wields and a skeleton hits the ground beside us. The circle breaks as she backpedals. She hits it again, bringing her club down across its spine and cracking it. It isn’t until I see the corpse behind Thomas and feel the spongy grip of a dead hand around my throat that I realize our mistake. We all dropped our guard. We all turned away.

I twist out of the fingers looking to break my windpipe and bring my elbow up blind to knock it back. The athame is in my hand in an instant; the blade drives into the corpse behind me and it sounds like it falls to pieces. When I cleave into the skeleton that Carmel dropped, it liquefies and sinks into the ground.

Two down, twenty-five to go. Looking into the trees, bodies are everywhere. They don’t seem to move, they don’t run up; they just
are
and every time we look away, they’re closer. Carmel’s doing this constant groaning, growling thing, swinging her club at everything that gets near. I can hear Jestine and Thomas, two chants in different languages, and I have no idea what they’re doing. My knife slides through the black hole of an eye socket and the corpse disintegrates in a cloud of what looks like granular soil.

“There are too many,” Carmel shouts. Fighting them off is a pipe dream.

“Run!” I shout, but Jestine and Thomas don’t budge. Thomas’s voice rattles in my ears. The dialect reminds me of Morfran, of the Obeahman. It’s pure voodoo. Ten feet ahead of him, a half-rotten body draped over a low branch suddenly collapses. In the next second it’s nothing but a pile of writhing maggots.

“Not bad, Thomas,” I say, and when he glances over his shoulder, another corpse is in front of him, too fast to see. It sinks its teeth deep into the meat of his neck and he shrieks.

Jestine growls something in Gaelic and sweeps her arm across her chest; the corpse lets go of Thomas and falls, twitching.

“Run!” she shouts, and this time we do, our legs crashing through fallen leaves and ferns. I stay in the front as much as I can, slicing into anything that shows up in our path. To my left, Carmel is channeling her inner Warrior Princess, using the club to pretty good effect with one arm. The other arm has hold of Thomas. Blood darkens the entire top half of his shirt. He needs help. He can’t keep running. But there’s new light ahead and a break in the trees. We’re almost out.

“Cas! Watch it!”

My head turns at Jestine’s warning, just in time to see the bleary eyes right where I feared they would be. Two inches from my face, and I’m tackled underneath him.

The weight is unexpected. It’s like being steamrolled. And despite the strength in him, his arms are rubbery and soft; my nose is too close to his neck. I can hear his teeth snapping in my ear, and the skin around the knot of the rope is swollen and black, like an overinflated tire. During the roll to the ground, the athame got pinned at a bad angle. I can’t get it up into his gut and I can just barely keep it tilted out of mine. When I push his head away with my other hand he jerks and bites down on my fingers. Mossy teeth grind right down to the bone and on reflex I curl my grip around his jaw. My fingers push through something soft and grainy. His rotting tongue.