Strangewood (9 page)

"You're not real," Nathan whispered.

Instantly, he stopped moving, and his metal carriage —
a wheelbarrow, he realized — clanked to the ground. The green eyes moved
closer, and Nathan could really see him now, the huge saber-toothed tiger man
he'd always feared in his father's stories. But not clever and soft, like in
the stories. Cruel, instead of clever. Filthy and matted, instead of soft.

Nathan closed his eyes and began to cry harder. Trying to
push it away. It wasn't real. He knew it wasn't because his Daddy had always
told him, promised him, that the stories weren't real. Just made up for kids,
for boys and girls like him.

"Hear that, Cragssssskull?" Bob Longtooth said in
the dark beyond Nathan's compressed eyelids. "The brat ssssays we're not
real."

A long, warm, furry paw lay across Nathan's face, and he
whimpered and peed his pants, something he hadn't done in more than a year. A
sharp claw scratched him, quickly, in the face, and he screamed, shrieking
horribly.

"Kid could drive Christ off the cross," a low
voice muttered nearby, the sound of thunder rumbling.

But Nathan wasn't listening. Nathan was screaming. He opened
his eyes, breath coming in hitching gasps, as the wheelbarrow was lifted again
and started to move.

"Boo!" Bob Longtooth roared, and Nathan's
shrieking ratcheted up another notch. "Real enough for ya, brat?"

Then both of them were laughing again, and Nathan continued
to scream, turning in the wheelbarrow to face away from Bob Longtooth. He could
see Cragskull now, an inhumanly broad-shouldered, ugly man, shorter than
Nathan's mother. His beard and hair long and dirty, his head split above the
left eye and a foul-smelling steam coming from within.

Cragskull was always mean in the books, but he was stupid
too. Stupid made him funny. But Nathan didn't think he was funny anymore. The
boy whimpered, tears streamed down his face, and he kept moving around in the
wheelbarrow until his feet were down the end near where Bob Longtooth was
pushing. He sat up a bit, and his eyes darted around, taking in everything he
saw.

It was Strangewood, all right. But it wasn't the Strangewood
from his Daddy's books. Nathan thought they were on the Winding Way, a magical
road that twisted all through the landscape of Strangewood. And it might have
been . . . should have been . . . the Big Old Orchard, where huge apples trees
grew, every one of them good for climbing and swinging. The giant apples were
redder than licorice and juicier than any other apple ever dreamed of being. Something
to brag about, in a world where apples probably did dream.

But it wasn't the Big Old Orchard. Not really. It looked
like it might have been, a long time ago. But not anymore. The trees were
twisted and dark, too scary to climb. Dangerous, even. And there were no more
apples except for withered things all over the ground on either side of the
Winding Way.

Nathan was just a boy, but he knew the smell of rotting
fruit. And of shit. He could smell both from where he sat, though there was
only a light breeze, and he tried hard not to breathe through his nose.

He wiped the tears from his eyes, still whimpering low in
his chest without even realizing he was doing it. But Longtooth and Cragskull
didn't seem like they were going to hurt him, as long as he kept his mouth
shut. Not that it mattered; he was too scared to say anything else. Too scared
to do anything except look around, in terror and in sadness.

It was like Strangewood was dead. As though somebody had
killed it. If they kept going along the Winding Way, they would eventually come
to the Land of Bells and Whistles, and then the Up-River, and Nathan didn't
want to even think what might have happened to all the people who lived in
those places.

Unless — well, there was always the possibility that
he'd find someone who could save him from Bob and Cragskull. He looked around
hopefully, scanning the ruined orchard for some sign that help might be coming.

"Don't even think about it, sssssson," Bob
Longtooth hissed. "You belong to usssss, now. The bosssss has plansssss
for you."

Nathan ignored the saber-toothed man as best he could . . .
which wasn't all that well considering how frightened of Bob he was. He scanned
the woods, listened to the orange-starred night, hoping for some sign that help
was on the way.

That was when the screams started. There was a horrible,
keening wail off to the right, deep in the deadwood of the Big Old Orchard. And
Nathan smelled the sharp tangy scent of fresh oranges.

"Oh . . .” he said. "Oh . . . no, please . .
."

Cragskull clamped a hand hard on Nathan's mouth and held a
knife to his throat. When he spoke, his gruff voice was a whisper so low Nathan
could barely make out the words.

"They're not on our side," Cragskull whispered,
and Nathan wanted to scream even more then. The creatures screaming in the
forest might actually be able to help him, to save him from these others.

"They're not on your sssside either, brat," Longtooth
added quietly, then they were all silent until the scent of oranges had gone
away.

"The Orange Pealers aren't on anybody's side in
this," Cragskull agreed. "They're just vicious little savages who
smell good."

After a moment, Bob Longtooth picked up the wheelbarrow and
started off once more. He and Cragskull were trying to be very quiet, and
Nathan had the urge to shout again, but didn't. He wasn't even six years old,
but he knew enough to be afraid of anything that the monsters themselves were
afraid of.

They stared at him from time to time, and Nathan would only
look away. He didn't like to look at them, didn't want to think about where
they were or what had happened to this place. He was big enough to know that
Strangewood wasn't real. At least, that's what his Daddy told him and his Daddy
never lied. But maybe, he thought, just maybe Daddy didn't really know.

Nathan started to cry again at that thought; that and the
smell of his pee soaking his pants, already starting to dry. If Daddy didn't
know, then Daddy wouldn't be able to come and find him. Not ever.

And if Daddy couldn't find him in Strangewood, then nobody
could.

"What the hell is he crying for, Bob?" Cragskull
sneered. "I'd just started to like this quiet, and the kid's got to go and
ruin it. I'm gonna crack his head like a walnut and suck his brains out like
I'm at a cauliflower pie-eating contest."

"Bossss wouldn't like it, Crag," Longtooth
grumbled. "You'd better not."

"You're really no fun," Cragskull said, but then
didn't say anything else about eating Nathan's brain, or vegetable pies.

They talked about him like he wasn't there, which was okay
with Nathan. He didn't want to be there and kept closing his eyes hoping he'd
wake up at home, or teleport himself from here to someplace else, like he'd
seen on just about every cartoon he'd ever watched, except maybe Scooby Doo.

There was another turn in the Winding Way, and suddenly, the
sky brightened. He had a moment to hope the sun might come out, but then he
heard the crackling. Smelled the heavy smoke. A fire was burning, and it was a
big one.

Quickly, he reversed his position in the wheelbarrow again,
and his belly felt sick when he saw the flames, roaring above a tiny village
that once was round and brightly colored. The fire was all colors, too, the
colors of the homes and shops and people . . . even the Melody Mill was
burning, its balconies and ornate iron and woodwork blazing.

It was the Land of Bells and Whistles, and except for the
roar of the fire, it was completely silent.

"Wow!" Longtooth whispered, stroking his whiskers
and licking his long tusks.

"Ain't that a hoot!" Cragskull whooped with
delight.

Heart drumming in his chest, Nathan realized the two
creatures weren't paying attention to him for the moment. He had to go, and so
he rolled on his side right out of the wheelbarrow.

"Hey!" Cragskull shouted angrily, his voice rising
to a growl of fury.

But Nathan was already running as fast as his little boy
legs could carry him, back down the Winding Way in the direction they'd come
from. He didn't even remember what was back there, except maybe for
Fiddlestick's cave, Grumbler's cottage, and the homes of some of the others. But
it was enough that it was the opposite direction than Longtooth and Cragskull
wanted him to go in.

"I've got him!" Longtooth snarled, and Nathan felt
a tug on the back of his pajamas.

He kept running, heard Bob Longtooth curse behind him. His
feetie pajamas slapped hard dirt and the tears kept rolling, but he wasn't
going to stop. Nathan screamed loud and long, as if it would protect him
somehow

"Brat!" Longtooth screamed.

"I'll kill you for making this such a pain in the
ass!" Cragskull added, and Nathan almost slowed down when he heard that
terrible, rumbling laugh. It took his strength away for a second.

But he didn't stop. He ran on. Rounded a corner and prayed
that he would be able to find someone. He kept screaming for help, screaming
for his father who would never find him here, and if his father couldn’t then
nobody ever would.

He felt the hot breath of the saber-toothed man behind him,
and then he heard Bob Longtooth roar and felt claws rip into his back and
Nathan Randall nearly passed out from the pain and the shock.

Nathan lay on his belly in the dirt, praying to God that his
mommy and daddy would come now. Come and take him home. Home wasn't really
there anymore, not one home for all of them, but his room was still there. His
room, where he was safe.

"I . . . want . . . my . . . Mom!" he huffed
hysterically through pained sobs.

"Awwww," Cragskull said throatily behind him,
above where Longtooth had pinned Nathan to the dirt, the dirt he could taste in
his mouth. "Poor baby, wants his mommy! Come on, Bob, let him up."

Bob Longtooth whipped Nathan up quickly, claws on the boy's
scalp and cheek, and shoved his face at Cragskull's horrible stinking, smoking
head. Cragskull moved so that his crooked and rotting nose was close enough to
Nathan that he could have . . . could have licked it, and Cragskull laughed
again.

"We want your mommy, too, brat," Cragskull said. "If
we can get our hands on that bitch, something that ain't as easy as it sounds,
well, we'll just rip her fucking heart out and eat it, if it's all the same to
you. This shit is almost as much her fault as it is anyone's."

That did it, pushed Nathan past the edge of hysteria so that
he wasn't thinking anymore. Was barely breathing. The tears were gone, now,
leaving only the screaming and the feeling that he was going to throw up if he
didn't stop — and he couldn't stop.

And now he smelled oranges.

"Put the child down," said a wet and sticky voice
that sounded close by his ear. "Put Nathan down and move away, you rogues.
That's an order."

Longtooth dropped him to the dirt, and he and Cragskull
stared up the hill behind Nathan. Painfully, his back still bleeding, Nathan
rolled over and looked up the dirt path, the Winding Way, to see the horrible,
melting form, the crumbling features and smoldering cinder eyes of the Peanut
Butter General.

The General looked just like an old-time soldier in uniform,
only covered in peanut butter and bees. When he opened his mouth, there were
strings of peanut butter spun like spiderwebs from lip to lip.

Around his feet, chittering away, were four or five of the
Orange Pealers, vicious little monsters like oranges with legs and huge
needle-fanged mouths. The mouths opened, and the Pealers started to scream.

"We . . . we got him . . . fair an' square,"
Cragskull shouted bravely.

The Pealers screamed louder and started down the hill.

"The boy . . .” said the sticky voice of the General,
". . . is mine."

* * * * *

"Oh, God," Thomas said, staring down at the prone
form of his only child on the hospital bed, machines beeping nearby telling him
his boy was still alive.

"Nathan."

The hospital staff had wheeled him into the room on a
gurney, and his arms and legs had been splayed about as though there weren't a
spark of life in him. The nurse had stripped Nathan, then put him in hospital
pajamas. She'd had a bit of trouble tying the top behind his back, but
eventually managed. Emily and Thomas had offered to help, but everything seemed
to be happening around them, as though they were an obstacle, rather than the
parents of the limp, lifeless little boy lying in that bed.

"Nathan," Thomas whispered.

Emily had been called out of the room. Apparently, she had a
phone call. He could only assume it was the new boyfriend, whose name she
hadn't even had the courtesy to tell him.

She should be here, he thought angrily. The rest of the
world could wait. He didn't want to begrudge her a new life, but her real life,
her child, needed her now. Her love life shouldn't even be on the priority
list.

Thomas blinked.

Something . . . odd, in the air. Something . . . a smell.

He smelled oranges.

The scent grew and grew until it permeated the whole room. Eventually,
it had grown so strong that he couldn't help but be distracted by it. He moved
about the room, trying to figure out where the smell was coming from, where it
was the strongest. It baffled him, and finally, he gave up and moved back
toward Nathan.

That's when he realized that the scent was coming from his
son. Nathan smelled powerfully of oranges. Thomas was taken aback, deeply
troubled by this peculiar phenomenon. He reached over the bed to press the
button that would call the nurse.

There was a
scritch-scratch
at the window. Thomas
spun, mind racing, and saw a flash of green and orange outside. But they were
five stories up! Who could be . . . a pigeon or something, right? Then he heard
flapping. Didn't he? Didn't he hear flapping, like a pigeon would make flying
away?