The Remedy (13 page)

“A person?” Sam was now also on his feet and had joined Leigh by her side. “What, just taking a stroll through the middle of the woods during a rainstorm?”

“Isn’t that what we were doing?”

Sam smirked. “Good point.”

The two stared out into the thick gathering of trees and undergrowth, but besides lilting from raindrops, the plants remained still.

“Hello?” Leigh flinched at the abruptness and volume of Sam’s voice. His call did not receive an answer.

“You’re sure the owners aren’t around anymore?” Leigh asked.

“Yes, I’m positive. Besides, even if I was wrong and it
was
one of them, why would they be hiding?”

“I’m probably just seeing things,” Leigh admitted. She hadn’t exactly been at full alert while telling her traumatic story.

“Yeah, you most likely were.” Sam turned around and walked to the porch’s steps. Without another word he descended and began walking toward the forest.

Leigh called after him. “Whoa! Where are you going?”

“I just want to have a quick look.” Sam’s voice had lowered to almost a whisper. “I want to make sure it’s not some kids looking to break into this place and use it as a party house. And if it is, I’m gonna give them a scare so they think twice about coming back.”

“Why?” Leigh found herself speaking lower, too, though it was more from following Sam’s lead than actual concern. “Does it really matter? I mean, we basically did just that.”

“Exactly.” Sam gave her a wink. “We got to protect our turf. If we let others move in, where we will hold our reunion next year?”

Leigh smiled, not only in response to Sam’s joke, but at the thought of seeing him again.

“Hold on, I’ll go with you.”

Sam threw his arm outward to wave her back. “You better stay here, just in case.”

“No.” Leigh’s hands went to her hips. “I’m not afraid of a bunch of teenagers. Believe me, I can be quite the bitch when I want to be.”

A smile spread across Sam’s face from ear to ear. “All right, then. Let’s go. But keep quiet.”

As quietly as she could, Leigh made her way down the stairs to Sam’s side. Together, the two entered into the trees, taking slow, deliberate steps. The damp ground made it easier to remain silent since they did not have to worry about the loud crunching of dry leaves or twigs. The only real challenge was refraining from violently swatting at the mosquitoes that whined in their ears.

They walked about fifty feet from the cabin’s porch and discovered nothing. It seemed Leigh had been mistaken. It had likely been an animal that scampered away just as quickly as it appeared.

“I guess it was nothing,” said Sam.

Leigh turned her eyes down, embarrassed. “Sorry. My eyes must have been playing tricks on me.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Sam replied, bending down to tie his shoe. “I’m glad you were wrong. It’s a relief to know no one’s been messing with this place.” He finished his knot and straightened. “Okay, I’m ready. Let’s head back and get the others.”

“Sounds…”

The word to come next from Leigh’s mouth would’ve been “good.” Instead, a distinctly human moan filled their ears, causing the hair on the back of Leigh’s arms to stand straight up.

“
Uuuggghh…”

“
Shh
!” Sam hissed. “What the hell was that?”

Leigh’s eyes darted in all directions as she tried to figure out where the sound was coming from. “I heard it, too. It’s close.”

A second groan, painfully drawn out and wet with phlegm, pinpointed the noise’s origin behind a large, moss-covered log.

“There!” Leigh pointed to the fallen tree. The log was dark with wetness and age, its wood soft and covered with growths. Among the patches of rich, furry moss grew some scattered mushrooms, all a sickly yellow-green. This was to be expected—the rotten log made a perfect environment for fungus to develop.

What wasn’t as likely was that one of the mushrooms could move on its own, lifting up and slithering forward an inch.

“Holy fuck!” Sam jumped just as far back as Leigh. “Did you see that?”

Leigh was too focused on the creeping fungi to give an answer. She was so overcome with shock that it took her a few seconds to realize what exactly they were looking at.

The growth wasn’t connected to the wood at all. What moved in their direction was a human hand, struggling to pull up the body that was emerging from behind the log.

Two years ago, on a rainy Sunday afternoon, Leigh had taken a much-needed break from writing a research paper to channel-surf for a while. Since she and Alex had only sprung for basic cable in their room, her choices for daytime programming were limited to soap operas and educational shows on the Discovery Channel. Leigh had opted for the latter and fallen upon a fascinating documentary about a man in Indonesia who suffered from the strangest disease she had ever seen. Warts had enveloped most of the man’s body, making his hands and feet look more like plant-life than human flesh. Long, banana-shaped warts dangled from his fingers and toes like roots. The growths were so severe that the locals of his small town called him “The Tree Man.” Leigh had never seen anything like him—

Until now.

As improbable as it was, it seemed that the Tree Man had come to pay a visit to the forests of Vermont. Only this was man was Caucasian, or at least he had been at one point. The sparse patches of uninfected skin that dotted his body proved as much.

Christ. He looks like a moldy piece of bread
.

The man got half of his torso over the log and collapsed against it. Using what little strength he must have left, he looked up at the two college students and whispered a gurgling, desperate plea.

“Heclp meesh.”

Sam, who had taken a guard-like position between Leigh and the stranger, looked back to her. “What did he say?”

“He said, ‘Help me.’ ” Leigh struggled to compose herself against an overpowering wave of nausea. “Whatever that is all over him must be in his throat also.”

“Shit,” Leigh heard Sam say under his breath. Cautiously, he knelt down to speak to the man. “What happened to you, man?”

Instead of answering the question, the Tree Man lifted his arm and extended what was left of his open hand toward Sam. The arm rose slowly as if it were supporting fifty-pound weights. Through fuzz-covered lips, the man whispered,
“Pleeeassh…”

With his arm outstretched, Leigh could see the entire length of his mold-covered bicep. Something on his limb caught her eye. It was darker than the rest of the green fungus, traced along a solitary strip of untouched skin. Stepping forward, Leigh knelt down to get a better look at the marking.

“No, Leigh!” Sam grabbed her arm. “Don’t get near him. Whatever he has might be contagious.” Leigh obeyed, but only because she was already close enough to identify the mark.

A tattoo—barbed wire—wrapped around the man’s upper arm.

It was one of the men from the photo in the kitchen.

“Sam! This is the owner of the deer camp!”

“Oh my God.” The words ran from his lips like a bubbling stream. “Dale? Dale Preston?”

The man slowly nodded. Keeping her eyes trained on the green-mossed mass of man, Leigh asked, “You know him?”

“Not personally, but he’s a local.”

“Well, we have to help him. And fast.”

“I know.” He turned to the man. “Just stay right there, okay, Dale? Don’t move. We’re going to get help.” He grabbed Leigh’s sleeve and pulled her several steps back.

“All right,” he said, staring into her eyes. “I think one of us should stay with him to try to keep him calm while the other gets Rob and Eliza to help find something to carry him with. Touching him ourselves is definitely out of the question.”

Leigh nodded. “But what about a phone?”

“No good. Your cell won’t work out here and there aren’t any phone lines that run to the house. Most hunters who have camps out here spring for satellite phones or they rely on walkie-talkies.”

“Well, maybe there’s one of those around.”

Try as she might to think proactively and embody a sense of optimism, there was no ignoring the scream that was slowly crawling up the back of her throat.

Sam threw a quick glance at Dale, who was breathing with great difficulty. “I didn’t see one before, but we can look again. Now, are you okay staying with him or do you want me to?”

“No, I can do it.” Leigh pulled her shoulders back. “You’ll probably be able to find your way around the cabin better than I would. And Rob will act faster if it’s you who asks him to help. He seems to already like you more than he’s ever cared for me.”

Her voice came out as shaky as an 8.0 earthquake, Leigh laughed in an attempt to conceal the tremors. It came out weak and terribly artificial, but Sam smiled all the same.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll be fast. And I’ll send Eliza out to help you.”

Leigh returned the smile. “Thanks.”

There it was again. Even with a dying man covered in a disgusting, flesh-eating fungus just a few feet away, an intimate second of silence somehow found its way between Leigh and Sam.

Sensing the immense inappropriateness of their moment, Leigh snapped out of it. “I’ll be fine. Go!”

Sam said nothing more and left. She watched him turn and jog back to the cabin, feeling surprisingly calm despite their situation. Of course, she’d give anything for a phone to call 9-1-1, or a vehicle with room for five and four-wheel drive. But for what they had to work with, it was a good plan.

And let’s not forget. Sam’s here
.

Sam was a fast thinker and even quicker to act, two traits that the rest of her company didn’t exactly have. Under his leadership, they would figure out a way to drag poor Dale Preston out of the woods to get the help he so desperately needed.

Everything would be okay.

Leigh released a self-assuring breath.

From within the cabin’s walls, Eliza screamed.

Rob collapsed backward onto the bottom mattress of the musty bunk bed in the bedroom’s corner. Eliza spied on him through a crack in the bedroom’s door, watching her boyfriend rifle through the drawer of the small nightstand. The scratch on her neck still itched, but she found the irritation easier to bear while being distracted by her little peepshow. Besides, she didn’t want to risk the noise any scratching might make, afraid it would reveal her presence.

Finding only a dog-eared issue of
Guns & Ammo
and a discarded pack of Skoal, Rob slammed the drawer shut, unsatisfied. Placing his arms under his head, he stared up at the bottom of the upper bunk, boredom painted across his face.

“Fuckin’ rain,” he mumbled to himself. “Let up already.”

Eliza had to bite her finger to stifle the laughter building within her. She knew it would be any moment now that Rob would figure out something to do to pass the time. Truth be told, she was both surprised and impressed it had taken him this long to indulge in one of his favorite pastimes.

Wait for it…

His hand traveled down his thigh, scratching what was probably a bug bite received during their miserable trek though the woods. As his fingers dug into the flesh under his baggy, oversized jeans, something bulging in his pocket pushed out into view. It was a pack of Zig Zag rolling papers. It fell from his pocket to the hardwood floor. He retrieved the carton, flipping it over to examine the bearded man logo.

As if on cue, Rob’s eyes widened. There was no mistaking the thought behind the expression:

Oh, shit! That’s right. What the hell am I waiting for?

Eliza grinned. It was a good question.

In one deft movement, Rob sprang up into a sitting position. Eliza winced when it looked like Rob was going to slam his head on the upper bunk’s support bar, but he kept his neck bent just enough to avoid injury. Like a starving castaway who’d caught his first fish, Rob snatched his backpack and tore at the zipper.

The look on his face when he discovered the bag was empty was nothing less than priceless.

“What the
fuck
?” Rob shouted, as if the bag it would provide any answers. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” The bag hit the floor, its zipper scratching the wood. Through gritted teeth, Eliza could hear Rob grumble, “Marshall. You son of a—”

“Looking for this?”

Eliza threw open the bathroom door and held the coveted bag of weed between two pinched fingers. Now that the jig was up, she finally let go of the torrent of laugher she’d been bottling up inside. Rob did not join in.

“You bitch,” he said, placing a hand on his chest. “You just gave me a heart attack. Very funny.”

Eliza chucked the weed at Rob’s head. His hand whipped up just in time to prevent it from smacking him in the face. “
I
thought so,” she sneered. “And don’t call me a bitch.”

Rob carefully opened the plastic bag. “Well, then, don’t play mean tricks on me for no reason.”

“No reason, huh?”

“What are you talking about?” Rob wasn’t even looking in Eliza’s direction, too preoccupied with removing a paper from the pack of Zig Zags and beginning construction on a perfectly rolled joint.

“Let’s just say I’ve learned to never leave you alone for a
second
with anything you could fuck. Including my friends.”

That comment brought Rob’s eyes away from his work, precious weed fluttering like snow to the floor. “Aw, shit!” He quickly placed the joint on the nightstand. “Now look what you made me do.”

“Oh I see.” Eliza turned away from him and crossed her arms. “Instead of apologizing, you’re just going to try and change the subject. Nice.”

She could tell the exaggeration in Rob’s sigh was intentional. He pushed up the brim of his trucker’s cap up so she could see his eyes. “Listen, babe, if this is about something I did on this trip, I don’t remember. Okay? It’s called blackout drunk. I know you’ve experienced it yourself. So can we just let it go?”

Eliza hesitated. Her anger still burned, but it was rapidly becoming apparent that further arguing wouldn’t do any good. Whether or not Rob was telling the truth, his excuse was infallible. And at least she had been witness to how much he drank, which was certainly enough to cause a considerable degree of memory loss. Still, he hadn’t apologized, nor promised it wouldn’t happen again. What if Eliza wasn’t around to catch him next time?