Short Story (Actually kinda long)(Updated 08-25-2007)

[Big Rick Cook]

EDIT: Updated 08-25-2007. You can find the new portion at the bottom of this post, and also as my latest post.

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This here's the beginning of a short story based off of an epic poem I had planned to write. It's already vastly different from the poem, but that's okay. I would say it's got sci-fi qualities, but only marginally so. It has no title at this point because the title my poem has doesn't fit this story. I'd like some people to give input as to whether the premise interests them or not. As in, is this something that has potential or should I just can it?

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Around the axis Earth did turn, spinning into life creatures untold. These simple creatures evolved. They became something more. Millions of years and then Man sharpened his first spear, sparked the first campfire, rolled his first wheel, and spoke his first word. No memory or history of these events could possibly exist, and yet they happened. Man continued down his path to become the ruling power on the planet, reaching inward as well as out. But all things exist only in their time….

*****

The man awakened and found he must be dreaming. He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his coffee-colored eyes, expecting to wake once again comfortably in his bed, tangled in his sheets perhaps, but in his bed. He bolted off the ground, leaves sticking to his back and in his short black hair, at the realization that he was not a lucid dreamer; he’d never before in his life known a dream for a dream until he finally roused from his slumber. A cold sweat immediately formed on his body, tall of stature and lean, but not fit. Chills vibrated up and down his spine as his naked chest felt a cool breeze whipping through… wherever he now was. His boxer briefs and socks were his only clothing.

He stood surrounded by trees, mighty oaks bigger than any he’d ever seen or even known to exist. The trees grew together so close in spaces that squirrels would be unable to fit through. His mind flashed red as panic struck; there was no exit! He bounded through a thick layer of dead – and deader – leaves until he reached the circular wall of trees, searching for some obscured pathway out. Scour as much as he would, no tunnel or path was to be found; nor would he be able to climb out, as the branches did not begin until thirty or so feet above his head. He began shouting, screaming for help that he sensed would not come.

“HELLOOO!!” he screeched, his own echoes answering him in a peculiar metallic fashion. “Can anyone hear me?!” Standing in the center of his circular prison, he hollered until his lungs labored and his throat grew hoarse. A thinning canopy of yellowing leaves hundreds of feet above even the lowest branch shed little light in shafts that beamed into the forest floor. He continued breathing heavily; now that he had ceased panicking, he detected the familiar scents of forest that he remembered from his youth as a Boy Scout. He willed himself to calm down and assess his situation. Sitting down among the leaves, he received his second surprise of the morning, though it’d have been the first had he been paying enough attention: cold metal met his hands when he lowered down all the way. He timidly brushed away a large area of leaves to discover a shiny blue surface, no seams or cracks whatsoever. He frantically stood again, brushing away every inch of leaves until he finally found what he had been hoping for: a hatch; at least he hoped it was a hatch.

He stepped around the squared line in the otherwise smooth blue surface, like a predator circling its prey, watching for the right time to strike. It occurred to him that aside from this square, there were no indents or outcroppings or handles or anything with which to open this, assuming it to be a door as he refused to believe it anything else. Desperately he dropped to his hands and knees, searching for purchase with his fingernails and finding none; he scratched and scrambled and pulled until a fingernail ripped halfway off and began bleeding crimson. He pulled his hand back in frustrated agony, crying and yelling and banging on the door. Wiping the tears from his face with his bloody finger, he tasted the salty sweet mixture of his sweat, tears, and blood and only then realized his truer, baser needs: hunger, thirst. Pangs gripped his body from throat to intestine, anguishing him only further. His insides threatened to cave in, and he absently wondered how long he’d been in this place if he was this hungry.

Lying on his back, the man sucked the blood off his finger and tore the nail the rest of the way off, spitting it into the leaves. He removed a sock and wrapped his finger to stop the bleeding.

Okay, not panicking. Thinking, planning, figuring out. I’m good at this, he thought. Playing years and years of puzzle games and adventures had honed his skill at seeing through the maze or the pattern, and he now discerned this to be a puzzle. There had to be a key or a switch or a word that triggered the door to open, allowing his freedom. He looked around, thinking that maybe he missed a keyhole or a keypad somewhere, but still he found nothing but leaves and trees.

Shadows flickered across the ground as the gust picked up, and the man realized now that the shadows elongated. Soon the sun would set and he’d be in utter darkness. He doubled his search effort to try and avoid the pitch black night, but nothing he did or said or hit made a dent or a difference. Shadows now covered the whole circle in which he stood, and he understood that with such heights surrounding him, the sun could only shine in for a scant few hours of the day. The day remained bright, but no light shone in on the pit he felt would be his grave.

He collapsed against an oak, feeling the rough bark on his bare back and resigned himself to rest for awhile. That’s when he saw it. The pattern appeared up through the leaves in sparse jumbles, radiating an incandescent green. “Clever lock,” he said aloud, mostly to keep his wits about him. He scrambled around to see what message had been scrawled about the metallic floor, picking out letter by letter. It comforted him to see that the letters formed words in his own language, and he grew excited as he uncovered the full saying. After discerning the last three-foot letter, his heart sank. It didn’t make any sense:

“Recite and enjoy, for the path is always open. I trust you understand.”

The man began saying it in reverent tones, for some reason thinking it would help if he said it deferentially. After repeating the line several times, he began to weep. “WHAT AM I RECITING?” he sobbed. His tears dropped to the metallic green “P” of “path.” “… Wait. The capitals!” he shouted, as if someone stood behind him. He rechecked the letters and reviewed what he now had:

“RecitE and enjoy, for the Path is alwAys open. I trust you undeRstand.

R…E…P…A…I…R…

REPAIR

“Puzzle indeed!” He laughed. He cleared his throat and said, “Repair,” hoping he read the signs right. A tense moment revealed nothing, and just as he thought to give up and burst into tears again, a loud humming clicked on somewhere beneath him. The blue metal began to rumble as he felt and heard giant mechanisms doing their supposed duty in the underbelly of this prison. Steam shot out from a corner of the square door and it rumbled in place, unlatching from whatever held it in place. What the man expected did not happen, though; the door exploded from its place, rocketing up into the vertical tunnel, nearly taking his head off in the process, shuffling some leaves before it disappeared out of sight, caught in a wind. He looked down and almost collapsed with relief. A lighted stairwell wound down into whatever facility he was standing on. He’d done it. He beat the puzzle. Freedom lay somewhere below.

He reached out to the stairwell and descended, vowing to stop playing puzzles if he ever found his way out of this alive.

*****

Down the stairwell the man clambered, so happy to be away from the circle of trees that he nearly tripped and fell the last few steps. Righting himself and peering around, he noticed at once that he had but one option, one path. The tunnel in which he stood did not look as he had expected (mysterious pipes and keypads and hidden panels and repetitive steam relieving pressure from some ancient relic of a science fiction movie gone wrong); rather, it looked as if it had never been touched by any detritus of use or abuse. The man had no tools for measuring, but his eyesight said the pathway was perfectly straight and circular for farther than his vision would allow. That cold, blue, seamless metal went on for what could have been forever, perfectly straight and featureless save for yellow-glowing half-orbs attached to the eight-foot high ceiling every few yards. In the confines of the closed tunnel, he was now aware of his own body odor, but this smell became second nature within minutes.

Determining not to lose heart or hope in this metallic wormhole, he removed the slightly bloody sock from his finger; seeing that he no longer bled, he replaced the sock on his foot and began his journey. His first few steps caused his blood to stir and his pulse jumped, for the first light he passed under instantly flicked off with a small whirr. He stopped, but instincts took over; he feared the lights would continue to go out and he would be forever trapped in this lightless space, so he took off. Slipping momentarily with his unsteady socks, he nearly ripped them off until sweat gave them grip and he moved steadily down the tunnel, the orbs losing light just as he passed them. He chanced a glance behind him, wondering if he could see the stairway leading into the cursed circle of oak – perhaps an escape back into daylight if he panicked too much – but the sunlight had ceased and he saw nothing but darkness behind.

He slipped.

Another light dimmed as he toppled to the lower half of the circle and slid several inches before the sweat covering his body slipped away and his skin screamed as it came to a mind-piercing halt with the sound a tennis shoe makes on a basketball court. He hurried to get up, to keep moving, but realized the lights had ceased their taunting race. A thought occurred; a test to be administered. He stood up hastily, swallowed his fear, and took several steps forward, approaching the next light. It went out immediately as he stepped under it.

The man laughed out loud, but trembled at his own echoes. “If this is supposed to be my bread-crumb trail, you’ve got it backward,” he mused to the darkness. “And I’m supposed to have a Gretel.” Thinking upon a name, he suddenly realized that he hadn’t thought about anything but getting out of or away from perceived dangers since his awakening.

“My name. I’m Addison.” Addison thought it particularly strange that none of his thoughts were gone. The general lay of stories was that the main character had a bad case of amnesia, but he remembered everything, except for how he came to be in that Circle. But it was not time to reflect.

Addison walked on, after a time forgetting that the lights were even going out. He walked and walked for what seemed hours – and probably was – until his throat screamed for liquid and his muscles burned. He tried not to think of the aches in his stomach; the growling never stopped, as if a lion stalked him every passing minute. He finally became tired and forced himself to lie down, cringing in shock as his bare back touched the cool metal. Pondering his circumstances, he at once wondered how long he could keep on without water or food; Boy Scouts aside, he was no survivalist – given to panicking and wasting of energy – and to continue on in this way might yield an exit, but mile after mile, he had begun to doubt that he would reach the end.

Addison stood up again, feeling temporary relief from what may have been an all day excursion, and followed the half-globes of yellowish light further into the never-winding tunnel. Not even ten minutes after his rest, he came upon the first difference in the tunnel since its opening: an intersection, two identical blue funnels leading into his own in chicken-foot fashion. He nearly missed both openings as they were no longer lit; the light-globes had gone out, or were never on. Where his own tunnel – and indeed, perhaps not even just his tunnel anymore – continued on, there was still only one string of half-globes lit on the ceiling, but to either side of the glowing orbs another doused light lingered. He took a cautious step forward, wondering what the lights would do now that there was more than one; the single light went out, as usual, but nothing happened to the others.

Two others had already taken this path, and had made it at least this far.

He detected a faint scent in the sterilized air: perfume, of some sort. Wildflowers, maybe. Excitement overtook him. Someone’s been through here, and not long ago! He took off at a wild sprint, hoping to catch up to the sweet-smelling woman in a matter of minutes. Presently the perfume became stronger, and he chanced a yell that he hoped would stop her. “Hello! Is there someone ahead of me?”

He waited tensely, but still moving. For several frightening moments no sound but his echo answered him; he then caught a faint but feminine reply, “Keep moving!” It sounded urgent. “The door is closing!”

Door.

An exit. His lungs burned as he pushed himself harder; the gooey saliva in his mouth and throat dried and he wondered if he would vomit. He kept on for another several minutes, each moment passing in a frantic blur. Aches became distant. He thought his vision began to blur, mistaking daylight for that foggy lightheadedness he’d read about in murder mysteries and suspense novels.

Moments passed. Addison was vaguely aware of a voice urging him on, the light diminishing, he thought he was fainting. He was suddenly toppling over something hard and landing bareback on soft ground.

He had made it. Above his head he could see the circular doorway – what he had run into – close in on itself the rest of the way. He laughed and realized that he was crying, too. He tried to sit up, but dizziness set in and his body shut itself down. Blackness set in. That dreaded darkness.

He awoke feeling groggy. The dim view of the sun he had seen before passing out told him he’d only been out a few minutes. Reminders popped up all over his body that he was dehydrated and famished: headache, blurry vision, aching lungs, growling stomach. In his weakness he forced himself to a sit and leaned against the circular doorway.

A woman, bare as the day she came into the world, sat staring at him from a good fifteen yards away. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, pulled tight to her chest, obscuring all private areas from vision. Addison turned red in embarrassment.

She looked him over and said, “Good. You made it. Now find me some clothes.”

*****

He ignored her command at first and jumped to his feet, exhilarated to see another person. Despite the cool air, he felt his face warm when he had stolen several glances in the woman’s direction – enough to see what she looked like. She was perhaps in her late twenties, which gave him heart as he was himself only thirty years of age. Shoulder-length dusty brown hair – what he thought would have been straight if she’d had the toiletries – lay mussed about her head. She woke up to the same circumstance as me,he thought, and then smirked. And she sleeps in her birthday suit. Ruddy skin, flushed at being seen so vulnerable, paled against the overwhelming green of her eyes; her meticulously thin eyebrows showed her vain nature. Addison considered the stubborn façade she splayed across her scrunched nose and pouty lips, but couldn’t decide whether she was between handsome and pretty or pretty and beautiful. Standing straight, she might be nearly as tall as he was, and showed every inch in her drawn legs. He refused to look too closely for more than just fear of inciting some wrath that she would undoubtedly have at being so judged. His hands immediately covered his boxer briefs; he’d forgotten his own predicament on clothing.

Addison surveyed his other surroundings quickly. Behind him stood a wall of rock with the metallic blue circle sticking out obtrusively in the center; below, patchy yellow grass jutted out of the dark soil; to each side an endless expanse of leafless forest obscured all sight beyond a hundred feet or so; beyond the woman more trees dampened his vision, but he could hear forest sounds, and chief among them was the glorious movement of water. A stream lay somewhere near, and he needed water badly.

Hoping to subvert any humiliation or aggravation, he tried to start a conversation with the woman, wishing and willing her to go to the stream with him. “Um, hi there,” he said nervously. “My name’s Addison. What’s yours?”

She turned a contemptuous cheek and huffed. “This is a poor attempt at irony,” she answered. “Call me Winn.”

Puzzled at her statement about irony, he inched closer and continued, “I am glad to meet you, Winn. I don’t suppose you’ve a better idea than me about what’s going on?”

“If I did, I think I’d have worn something to bed,” she bit back. “Quit your gawking. Wherever we are, it’s apparent we were made to be unprepared, judging from your own lack of attire as well as mine.”

Hopelessness. Addison’s heart sank. “Repair,” he said, almost to himself.

“… What?”

“The password. Repair,” he replied. “Does it mean anything to you?”

“Less than my own password. ‘wheRe lies the Earth’s Greatest secret, mAke an Innocent maN beg.’” She quoted her line complete with capital letters. “Regain. Someone’s got a pattern,” she mused after Addison related his own line.

She sighed. “I guess there’s nothing for it. Let’s head towards the water.” She stood up and covered herself as best she could with her arms and hands and looked at him indignantly. “Well? I figure you need a drink much as anyone, so let’s forget our bashfulness and get on with it.” Winn began walking, and Addison followed, hoping she wouldn’t steal her own glances.

They walked in silence through the lifeless forest, Winn in front and Addison behind and slightly to Winn’s left. The wind bit hard on Addison’s nearly naked form, and he thanked God he was wearing anything at all. Poor Winn must be freezing to death, he thought, and noticed her trembling uncontrollably; in that instant, he almost reached out to share his warmth, but took his arm back when she halted the walk and cocked her head to the side, as if listening intently.

“Do you hear something?” he asked, and strained to pick up whatever it was.

“… No,” she said finally. “But I did. Sounded like leaves rustling around in the wind.” She began walking again, pretending not to be cold. The sunlight shining from above the treetops was fading fast, and gave little heat to their backs. The landscape took on a shadowy red hue as they moved relatively due east, another simple fact learned from his Boy Scout days.

The stream turned out to be nothing of the sort; it was, in fact, the greatest thing either of them could have hoped for in their circumstance: a natural hot spring bubbling beautifully clear water in the midst of a rather attractive rock cove hidden on three sides. Winn squealed with glee and rushed to the edge of the water, dipped her toes in, and then practically scrambled into it, escaping the cold wind, and his own eyes that Addison knew she could feel as surely as the wind. He stepped up to the precipice and stared for a moment.

“Kind of convenient, don’t you think?” he asked.

Winn ignored him and dunked her head under the water, splashing back up with her hair matted against her head now. He decided she was indeed quite pretty in that instant. She smiled – something she hadn’t done yet – and said, “Convenience hardly matters if your choices are hypothermia or thermal comfortability. Freeze to death.” And her head disappeared under the bubbly froth again.

He considered this and wondered how Winn could be so clever and naďve at the same time. Surely it mattered that they just happened to find a life-saving hot spring in their present conditions. At the same time, though, it was true that just because it wasn’t mere coincidence didn’t make it any less handy to their needs. He pulled off his socks and briefs while Winn was still submerged and jumped in. Warmth washed over him and relief vibrated out in waves. He barely felt the shock to the sensitive skin where his fingernail used to be when compared to the release of his chills. His head popped back out and he immediately smelled his body odor again; he scrubbed vigorously, hoping to remove the stink before Winn noticed. He laughed when he noticed her doing the same thing.

The two drank, despite worrying about the filth they had just added to the water. The heated pool did not slake Addison’s thirst the way he would have hoped with an icy stream, and worse than that they still needed food. Winn crouched on a rock close to the surface, so that she was sitting with her privates hidden again, but remained mostly under the water. Her back leaned against the back wall of the cove that slipped into the water; Addison thought she might fall asleep like that, and to his surprise, he thought about doing the same.

“Winn, we can’t sleep in the water.”

“I’ll let myself drown before I step out of this paradise, thank you,” she curtly replied.

“Seriously, Winn. Pruning will only get worse the longer we stay in the water. This hot water, especially, will dry us out. We have to think of alternative sleeping arrangements.” He looked to her solemnly, hoping she would take this serious. Perhaps the right word for Winn was "could."

She returned his solemnity with placidity. “Okay, then, Addison. What do you propose? Shall we cuddle up together for warmth or just bypass that awkwardness for straight-up sex?”

He scowled in response. “Jesus.”

“I’m vulnerable, so back off.” She turned her head, ignoring his stare.

Addison tried the logical side of things. “Winn, our survival depends on two things: our ability to stay warm, and our ability to find food. We won’t find food tonight. Our most important concern is warmth.”

She finally took on an apprehensive frown. “Okay, okay. What do we do, then, Boy Scout?”

Addison laughed. “I was a Boy Scout, by the way. Huddling together won’t save us. By itself. If we gather a large pile of these leaves and hide inside near this pool, the combination of the three should be enough to let us sleep. That is, if you’re willing.”

Her nose scrunched as if she was thinking too hard, and she looked him squarely in the eyes. “Swear to me, on your mother’s love, that you won’t take advantage of me.”

“I swear it. No harm will come to you, Winn. I swear on my mother’s love, and to God,” he pledged. And he meant it.

“… Okay, Addison. I just hope you’re not an Atheist.”

“Ha. You might be coarse, but you’ve a clever tongue, Winn.” He turned to the rock wall and began to climb out, but turned back and smiled. “Turn your head, if you please.”

She complied and he scampered out, dragged his briefs on, damned the cold night air, and set about gathering the leaves. He was silently glad for the lack of moonlight as he searched. After a large pile had been assembled – he thought it almost looked cozy – he stripped his briefs off again and jumped back in the water, hoping to warm up before the attempt at sleep came. He hadn’t even bothered to check if Winn was watching.

“Okay, Winn, whenever you’re ready. Climb in first and I’ll follow.”

He closed his eyes and heard Winn take two deep breaths; she was out the water and into the leaves faster than he thought it possible. He mimicked her actions, pulling the briefs and socks along with him. After they were sufficiently covered, he fumbled around in the dark to hand her the scant clothing they had.

“Here, put these on. You’ll need them more than me,” he said.

“… Thank you.” She took them and clumsily got them situated in the absence of light. “So… how do you want to do this?”

He flushed in embarrassment for the hundredth time that day. There would be no getting away from the awkwardness of their situation. “Uh… w-well, if you’ll squeeze in close and press your body to my back, we can avoid, um…” He stumbled for words.

“I got it. No tricky sticks in the night. Kind of a reverse spoon,” she said, obviously trying to con herself into believing this absolutely necessary. She scooted in close and wrapped an arm around him to press their bodies together. Addison cleared his mind of the body parts he felt against his backside, but it turned out to be somewhat difficult.

The hard part accomplished, he found it rather uncomfortable, but relatively warm. “Winn, we’ll find clothing and food tomorrow,” he said. “I promise.”

“Mmhmm,” she agreed, already falling asleep. And she was the one worried about awkwardness!

He tried to think of the problems ahead and the questions behind, but they all seemed paltry and unimportant to their present situation. There would be time yet to discuss the nature of everything, including the third person in that tunnel.

“Good night, Winn.” A light snore answered him, and he presently fell into a fitful rest.

*****

The sun came up several hours later and with it a brand new surprise. Winn awoke at the call of a morning bird, and didn’t realize where she was for several tense moments. Her arms were wrapped in a strange man’s embrace; he was naked, she wearing his boxer briefs. Panic rippled through her when she noticed their bed of leaves and she sat up straight, hiding her chest from the man who had just awoken from her frightful start.

Then she remembered.

“… Addison,” she said, kind of a question in itself.

Addison looked blankly at her for a moment, and then hid his own body in embarrassment. “Yeah. Looks like we survived the night. You don’t look feverish or sick, and I don’t feel that way. We had better find something to eat.”

The events of the day prior dawned on her. “No offense, but it’s really a sad thing this wasn’t all a dream.” Her stomach grumbled as Addison did the same, what she took for agreement. “Any ideas for food?” she said, scrambling over the cold dirt to the steaming spring, hoping to warm up, hide herself and get a drink – no matter how warm the water. She stripped the briefs and socks, hopped into the water and stretched her muscles. Addison was backing up to the pool of water, hiding his own privates until he too submerged, at least below the waist. That awkwardness once again out of the way, Winn observed their surroundings while Addison droned on about their options for food of some sort; the wind blew mercilessly, causing the baring treetops to sway hypnotically and a slight whooping whistle to penetrate the sunrise sounds, but in the steamy bath she felt none of it; despite the near-leafless trees, the thicketed woods surrounding them allowed sights no farther than perhaps fifty yards.

“… so our options seem pretty limited,” Addison finished saying as Winn realized she had stopped listening.

She nodded as if she’d heard all of it. “Let’s go, then. The sun’s barely risen and we’re wasting daylight.”

“Where do you suggest we go? Back to the tunnel, or in any direction that we haven’t been yet? There are no guarantees in any event.”

He’d apparently decided they wouldn’t find a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a McDonald’s any time soon. “Which is exactly why we should get moving now,” she said. “We could be miles from civilization, but we’ll never know until we start walking.”

“If there IS civilization left,” Addison remarked. Winn scoffed at that: men and their infinite worrying. “Which way should we walk?”

Without hesitation Winn answered, “East, of course. We walk around this hot spring and keep going. Whatever the people who put us in this place intended, they haven’t exactly hidden coincidence.”

Addison looked doubtful. The tiresome man suggested coincidence yesterday! “Don’t you feel… scripted? Like we’re not in control?” he asked.

“Does it matter?! We can either play along for now and probably find food and clothing and at least a few answers, or we can starve to death in warmth.” She closed her mouth as she realized fighting would get them nowhere. Addison watched her calmly. Insufferable!

Then he seemed to change his mind. “I promised you no harm. Given our circumstances, blindly moving in any direction prevents me from keeping that. But you’re right. Let’s get moving.” How odd the mind of man.

Winn nodded; they took several long draughts from the pool, scrubbed the dirt from their bodies, and ascended the stony surface. Addison once again turned and hid himself, but motioned for Winn to wear the scant clothing they had.

She pulled the boxer briefs on and then the socks, ignoring completely the brown blood stain on one, and covered her breasts with an arm as best she could. In such ridiculous arrangement, it felt foolish to hide flesh, but the wind snapped and she would not abide awkward glances. She only hoped she could keep from stealing her own.

The sun fully risen and the wind blowing, it created a soft if blustery warmth uncommon of fall. Grateful for small favors, the pair walked around the stone wall against the back of the hot spring, Winn in front as before. She took several cautious steps once she could see behind the stone wall, unsure and paranoid of what she would find, thanks to Addison’s own insecurity. Nothing of conspicuous detail made itself apparent from the rest of the forest, and they continued in as straight a line as possible in the closely-laid trees, ever-heading east. They walked in silence, the self-conscious lack of clothing doing its own part to prevent looks or talking of any kind. Winn felt good to be moving again, despite the grinding pit in her stomach and the slight chill to the air. She thought Addison would have wondered himself to death had she not been there to prod him along.

The wind picked up in a strong gust, whistling its sad aubade to anyone would listen; clouds had begun to roll in slowly during the hours they walked and the sun peeked timidly from behind on occasion. Rain would not help, but Winn only acknowledged that fact cursorily when Addison brought it up.

They had been walking through another rather nondescript patch of forest, devoid of details and all but showing full fall when it abruptly ended, marking the first deviation from normal forest they’d seen since leaving the hot spring. It seemed to have once been an old dirt road – hard-packed dark-brown dirt that could have said no more where they were than anything else – with slightly indented grooves where cars or probably trucks made their journeys. Years of weathering had created deep vein-like runoffs caused by rainy seasons and untended generations. There seemed to be another road across this path, the two lanes striated and divided only by a sparse jumble of prickly pine bushes, still in green. There was a nagging thought that this road hadn’t been traveled in decades, perhaps even centuries, by anything other than forest creatures, but she pushed it aside, refusing to bother with trivialities the like that Addison had probably already calculated and formed an ulcer around.

Her stomach growled again, and this time a thunderhead in the distance answered her with a low rumble, and she became nervous. It sounded bad. Damn that Addison for his worrying!

“Over here, Winn,” she heard Addison say, but faintly. She turned to see him crouching above the dirt path some twenty yards away, looking intently at something small, probably a leaf. Her eyes flashed down when she realized he hadn’t properly hidden himself, and she walked dumbly to meet him, hoping he’d fix the problem without acknowledgement and added humiliation. To her relief, he had, and what he studied sent her heart fluttering. A newly thrown Milky Way candy bar wrapper had been left in the lane, and next to the empty wrapper a soft but easily discernible boot-print marked the passage of another person. It faced north, as did any number of prints along the path on what was slightly softer ground than the hard-packed dirt in the center of the road.

“Our third tunnel-dweller?” Winn asked, thinking it could be no other.

“Unlikely, in any event, Winn.” His eyes darted down her body and back up, and she almost smacked him until he spoke again. “I mean if it was, he’d have to have slept in his boots the night he was whisked away here, and he had a candy bar. Whoever it was is a native, and I think we can at least determine we’re not far from our own time.”

“Our time?” She looked at him incredulously.

“Haven’t you wondered if we’re perhaps somewhere in the future, given where we woke up and the blue metallic tunnel?” He was serious!

“No!” But she had, at least at first, and she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing it. “We’ve nothing to gain by standing here gawking at a piece of plastic.” She looked at the roiling black clouds that had appeared and covered the sky while they examined the ground beneath; Addison took the cue and looked up as well.

“We should go,” he said. “I guess we’re somewhere past noon by the sun last time we saw it, and we may have many miles to cover on this road. We better set a hard pace and hope for the best.”

A natural leader at heart, she thought. As they took off at a sprint, jogging down the dirt path, she realized they still knew nothing about each other. Boy Scout. She suspected suddenly that they had been chosen for something, each person fulfilling a role. What would be her role? More speculation. Addison seemed to have that effect on her.

They disappeared around a slight bend in the road, and fat raindrops began to fall, slowly washing away their newly made foot-prints, as well as the clawed paw-prints on the other path they had neglected to see.

*****

Need hastened their jog into an all-out marathon dash. The torrent seemed to chase them, clicking its sodden hooves against their heels, slowly gaining. The clap and rumble of the thunder trailed the electric-blue lightning streaking across the sky and all around them; it was so frequent Winn could have believed they were pursued by a team of monstrous horses, bigger than Clydesdales and ferocious.

The gusts erupted from behind, sometimes threatening to knock her over, and she suddenly found her left hand in Addison’s warm grip, pulling her along whenever her feet tried to give out. Two days without eating hadn’t been a serious issue until now. Her sides ached and the road seemed to swim ahead of her; perspiration dotted her skin, despite the cool air and the tempest behind, but she still felt the cool against her body and wished sullenly for a blanket or a nice warm fire.

The downpour overtook her legs, icy shards digging into her calves. She didn’t realize they had abandoned humility for haste until she glanced at Addison’s legs to see if he was getting wet, as well. There was no shame, no embarrassment in the moment, just two fluid forms racing a rainstorm against need and all thought.

Lightning flashed again, throwing their shadows against the road; in that instant, that one important moment, the dancing light obscured her path and her right foot slipped into a rained-out groove. She grunted in surprise and then howled as pain lanced up her leg and she toppled, losing Addison’s grip, crashing hands-first into the moist dirt, and the rain overtook them. Distantly she could hear Addison scream her name; he wouldn’t leave her in this, would he? He sounded so far away.

Freezing pelts slammed down all around her, at first shocking her system to forget the throb in her leg; she took Addison’s extended hand, surprised to see him standing next to her, and instantly fell again. She was so cold. Her vision wavered. She stopped scrambling momentarily, forgetting all else and numbly began peeling off her socks: wet socks were no good.

Things happened in blurs; her socks left behind, she grasped the act of moving again – slower, more methodical and careful – but they ran. She wondered why her leg didn’t hurt anymore, but couldn’t see it. Addison felt warm against her and she hugged him tighter. The sense of being carried finally registered; Addison had piggybacked her for some reason. His chest rose and fell quickly, but she couldn’t find the words to tell him she could go on her own steam.

She settled back, trying hard to concentrate. “Where are we?” she asked, but Addison didn’t answer her. She couldn’t tell if he had heard her and didn’t bother to speak or just couldn’t hear above the horses chasing them. She looked back, but the horses were gone; their hooves still thundered, and she laughed. It must have been Addison’s clopping along that she could hear. The rain incessantly drenched her body, and she tried to wipe her soaked hair out of her face, mumbling about tangles and stray strands.

A light caught her vision and attention. She looked forward to see it fully, but her eyes kept trying to shut or swim about. “I’m thirsty, Addison. Could we stop for a drink soon?” He still didn’t answer her. Was he mad? Addison slipped slightly and nearly tumbled over, but he kept moving. She had the sense they moved upward and suddenly the rain stopped. They seemed to be surrounded by trees again, off the road. The light was bright here, but the hooves still capered about all around them.

“Where are we?” she asked again, but Addison still wouldn’t answer. They had entered a cave. There was a fire. She was gently lowered from his back in front of the fire and he disappeared. “Addison, could you bring me a blanket? I think I might be getting a cold.” For a wonder, she was immediately wrapped in a gigantic quilt. Addison nudged his way inside the blanket, and began pulling the boxer briefs from her waist; she tried to stop him, but he overpowered her, and he was apologizing. She couldn’t hear him very well. Had he been talking the whole time? They were suddenly wrapped tightly together, sharing warmth, and she didn’t care what happened after that.

“Addison, I’m still thirsty. Could you get me a Pepsi?”

“Yes, Winn, anything you want. Just rest for now.”

She thought to ask why they’d be resting tangled together like this, but darkness swept her vision.

*****

A faint rustling called her to awareness. Winn opened her eyes, but couldn’t move. She was twisted so profusely inside some blankets that movement seemed – no, was – impossible. She felt intense heat and sweat all over her body. The dull throb in her right ankle caused remembrance of the frantic run, but where the hell was she? On a couch, of that was she certain.

A fire danced playfully in the fireplace across the room, casting shadow marauders in all directions. Through the primly-kept windows she could see only darkness and a million raindrops against the glass, each one seeming to reflect the firelight and melt away in rivulets; dimly she became aware that the storm had ceased its bowling alley ruckus and contented in heavy, heaving, sighing sobs. She swung her head to take in what appeared to be an atypical log cabin straight out of the nineteenth century, but a delicate throb and wavering vision scolded her to slow down. “Where” was a question she had no room for in her foggy mind. Thought came slow, a begrudging honey-pot seeping sluggishly.

“A… Addison?” she croaked lightly, coming to understand how thirsty and fevered and God-blessed hungry she was. She managed a slight dredge of saliva and worked it patiently into the moaning crevices of her mouth and throat, sparing only a little to lick her lips, before trying again. She rasped, “Addison, are you here?” but stronger, steadying. She strained her neck to look around; this incited yet another dull throb, but it was lessening. The crackling blaze, the whining squall and the pelting shower overhead were not the only sounds registering to her ears: somewhere, and not far off, a dull hum issued forth from something – by God, something electrical – and she called out again.

Addison suddenly swept into the room from a door she couldn’t see from her couch-potato vantage, and relief washed over her. Then she laughed, because he wore a bed-sheet wrapped like a toga. He stopped short and turned slightly red in the face, but didn’t say anything. In his hand he carried a glorious sight: a clear plastic cup, cracked and weathered, but filled with water. Winn took it graciously – after struggling with her blankets to free a hand of her own, that is – and drank greedily of the surprisingly cool liquid, stopping only to mutter thanks.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, waving his hand. He plopped unceremoniously into a comfortable-looking oak rocker situated at a right angle with the couch Winn lay on. “I’m just glad you’re awake. I was worried you’d be sicker than you seem to be. How do you feel, by the way?” He spoke fast, and in clipped sentences, as if nervous or shy. It was charming after all they’d already been through.

She stroked a clammy hand through her hair, wondering how bushy and tangled it must look. “So long as you can keep the water coming, and perhaps a bit to eat, I think I’ll be okay with a little rest.” She shifted around in her blankets again, pulling the other arm free. “I feel flushed. Do I have a fever?”

Addison hesitantly rose from the chair to one knee in front of the couch. “With your permission,” he asked, raising a hand nearly to her forehead, but not touching until she had nodded. He placed the back of his hand momentarily and then switched to the palm.

“Just a bit warm. You’ll be good as new in a day or so. How about your ankle?”

“Feels like an elephant sat on it,” she said. She twisted in her blankets again, wincing at the jolt her leg sent, and finally freed it from the covering. “What does the Boy Scout have to say?” He smiled, then sat on the spare cushion of the long sofa and gently lifted her right leg to examine it. A poke, a prod and a couple cursory glances between left and right ankles later, he looked up to her face.

“Twisted it too hard, I think. I didn’t feel any breaks, and it’s not exceedingly puffy or discolored. We’ll have to cut it off, just to be safe.”

Winn laughed. “And here I thought you left your sense of humor behind.” BZZZZZZZT. A buzzer went off somewhere in the house and she squeaked, startled. Since the metallic blue tunnel, manmade sounds had been as alien as… well, as Alien, with Sigourney Weaver. She started to ask what it was, but Addison had brightened up.

“That, Winn, is civility at its best. Hold on a minute,” he said excitedly, jumping up from the couch and half-jogging into the back of the house, what was probably a kitchen. An overpowering saucy smell wafted in, preceding Addison back into the living room. Winn salivated so hard she thought she could drown in it before Addison sat down two bowls of honest-to-goodness beef ravioli on the glass coffee table between the couch and the fireplace. Addison beamed at the meal as though he had just presented lobster bisque, but Winn would have settled for potted meat, disgusting as it was.

“Tell me there’s more in that kitchen, Addison,” she demanded between drools. She sat up fast, holding the thick feather-down blanket above her chest and reached for a bowl, but dizzied and sat back, nearly losing the blanket. Addison hopped up expectantly and brought in a hand towel and a bowl of water; he soaked the towel and placed it on her forehead, leaning her head back on the couch. The coolness of the water startled her.

He said serenely, “Easy, now. You can’t eat if you faint.” Her eyes were closed, waiting for that accursed spinning to stop, but she knew his eyes were full of concern and she hid a smile. For all his worrying, he could have been a knight in ages past.

He went on as she steadied. “I checked around the cabin while you slept, looking for food, water, clothing, so on, but only found a few cans of ravioli, some tuna, and potted meat.” She made a guttural sound of disgust in reply to the potted meat, something like blech, but he went on. “There’s a cistern out back, trying hard to overflow from this downpour, and a generator that’s nearly empty. The microwave sucks up a lot of power, so we should use it sparingly.”

She lifted her head and received the rough clay bowl of ravioli he had been dying to hand her. He disappeared back into the kitchen and returned with a pitcher of water and two forks. Setting aside these marvels of man (indeed Winn had begun to think of them as marvels after two days without), Addison produced a dark blue sheet from a corner and handed it to her.

“Food and water was easy, but there’s not a scrap of real clothing to be found,” he said, ashamed. “I’ll step out so you can get dressed.” He rose to do just that, but she grabbed his shoulder, stopping him.

“Forget about that for now. We’re going to have dinner, because I know you’re shaking from hunger just as bad as me. Now sit.” He hesitated, looking for an excuse to get her dressed first, no doubt uncomfortable. The irony irritated her. He finally sat back down in the rocker and they abandoned manners, greedily swallowing every last bite. Beef ravioli was not her favorite, but the warmth and sustenance soothed her more than anything she could ever remember, like a hot bath, or a really great massage.

They sat in gratified silence, emptying the contents of the bowls, listening raptly to the rain pelting the roof and the soothing scrape of forks. For several moments, Winn forgot all about their plight and hardships over the past two days, choosing instead to revel in the comforting cabin, as though it were their summer cottage and they were not squatters in foreign territory. She knew they had much to talk about now that their basic needs had been fulfilled and they could sit in warmth and comfort to hash out all the details, but that would come in its time. For now, the heat radiated over her body, and that was enough. She closed her eyes.

*****

Addison shifted in his toga, irritably quashing every question he wanted to ask. There was indeed so much to discuss, but he sensed that Winn was not ready for that particular meeting of the minds. He chose instead to clear the bowls and let her rest. Maybe he could take that page from her book and stop stressing about every detail, but he doubted it. Whatever purpose they were meant to achieve, it was clear that their varying intellects and styles of thought would be required. He stared after Winn a moment more; her disheveled brown hair splayed out in a fan on the couch, a stray leaf or twig showing tangled mercilessly in the snarls, and her fever-glowing skin made her look a dangerous Amazonian warrior, beautiful but deadly. His own face boiled for staring, and he swept out to the kitchen before she could open her green eyes and see him for the old lecher he felt.

One electrically lit bulb shined dimly from the ceiling, casting its pale orange glow. Setting the bowls in the well-worn steel wash-basin, he peered around the kitchen, trying to decide what needed to be done first. He absently scratched at his elbow as he set about gathering the scant few rations he’d scrounged up earlier, placing them in the center of the circular hard-grained table. Besides the two cans of ravioli gratefully emptied, he had a sorry picnic: one more ravioli, six cans of tuna, and nine of the smallish potted-meat cans.

Three six nine, the thought struck him. Multiples of three. There were three tunnels, there should be three people. Just where was this third person and why hadn’t the previous owner of that candy bar wrapper come back to his house yet? These concerns gnawed at him from the front of his mind, while the lesser concerns of where they were and what they were supposed to be doing and how they had gotten here and why and who chewed contentedly on the back-burners, nullifying all decision-making and undoubtedly forming an ulcer in the pit of his stomach.

He shuffled through drawers and cabinets again, angry and confused, heedless of the racket he created with his rambunctious search. There was nothing immediately useful that he hadn’t already discovered: the food; the ancient can opener he remembered from countless old spaghetti westerns; the microwave; three sets of dinnerware complete with plate, bowl, coffee cup, regular cup, and a knife fork spoon to each; the water and the generator. He wondered if – somewhere in the rain-swept yard or the shed out back – there laid hidden more foodstuffs and useful tools or weapons, but put that aside for now. No use in getting a cold now they had finally warmed up. He suddenly desired a shower, and thought wistfully of all the comforts of modern society they would probably be without for a long while. There was plenty of water, true, and he could heat it over the fire in the bathroom and dump it into the cast-iron tub, but there just didn’t seem to be time for it.

I’ll have to let her rest the night, in case this cabin’s owner comes back, he thought. He scratched at his elbow again, really wishing for a shower now. He made ready to go back through the swinging door into the living room, to make another sweep of the house for useful artifacts, but stopped short as the door glided soundlessly on its hinges. Winn stood awkwardly in the living room, her back to him and the front door of the cabin, trying to solve the riddle of how to dress herself in a sheet while favoring her twisted ankle. He shied away, but couldn’t help staring through the crack of the door at her lithe form. Something about the act of clothing oneself thrilled him deeper than all the time they had spent together in their naked forms. Sexual tension had become a factor with the donning of cloth, and he stifled a laugh.

Winn struggled furiously with her dark blue sheet, wrapping it one way and then another, before finally fitting it to her breasts and knotting it around the left shoulder, same as he had done. He allowed the door to swing shut before she could turn and see him watching, but before it closed, a pale lightning flash from the far-gone storm illuminated a silhouette in the glasswork of the front door, large and menacing. Without thought Addison rushed through the door. Winn wheeled too fast at the bang of his palm on the door and slipped on her single-footed stance, falling roughly to the floor with a surprised fright. She uttered a yell, but Addison stifled it with a palm.

“Shh!” he hissed, looking at the door. He whispered through clenched teeth, “Someone’s outside. Get in the kitchen.” Winn’s mouth opened in shock, then shut, and she nodded. He helped her stand up, walked her quickly to the kitchen door, still swinging softly, and ushered her through, all the while watching the front door, hoping whoever was outside didn’t burst in until she was out of sight. Winn had hobbled to a corner of the kitchen hidden from direct sight of the door; Addison turned, breathing fast and heart thumping, meaning to head back to the living room to get a good look at whoever it was outside, but he heard the front door creak open. The rains pelted louder and the wind whistled through, shifting the swinging door that hid the kitchen and its occupants from view. Addison waited with breath bated for the footfalls to enter the house, but the only sound from the living room continued to be the fire and the wind and rain through the open door.

“What’s going on?” Winn asked in a whisper. She sat crouched in the corner, peering around a cabinet so that only her face bobbed worriedly in sight, like a haunting bodiless head.

Addison leveled his hand and lowered it, signaling for her to stay quiet, and continued to listen for signs of entry. The rain thrummed and drummed and his heart hammered in his chest; he was about to chance a sneaking look through the swinging door when the other door to the back of the kitchen suddenly swung in, clattering loudly with the wall it clung to. Winn shrieked in surprised horror as Addison whirled to face a brawny man in a long black slicker stepping into the kitchen, rain dripping all about him, boots thumping loudly on the hardwood floor. Addison darted forward to rescue Winn, who was much closer to the cloaked figure, but the man raised a shotgun and pumped it once threateningly, before aiming at Addison. He froze halfway to Winn and lifted his arms in defeat.

The man spoke.

“What’s yer business?” he asked, a gruff, southwesterly accent thickening his tongue. It seemed an odd first question no matter who the man was, but Addison didn’t think long on it, for the barrel of a shotgun is a menacing thing.

He cast Winn a glance, and then answered, “Survival.” Winn gasped, and the man tightened his hold on the gun as if to say “Wrong answer.” “I- I mean that we’re only here to stay out of the storm. We’re terribly sorry that we invaded your home, but it was something of an emergency.” The man eased his grip and seemed to consider, but with his face hidden in the shadows of his slicker, it proved impossible to tell his reaction.

“My house?” The man laughed good-naturedly. “I tell ya this, if it were my house, I’d have shot ya by now. Self-defense, I’m sure I’d get. Though…” he hesitated, “hard to say such laws matter at this point. Y’all look to have been through the blue-tube as well, eh?”

Blue-tube? Addison thought, but Winn answered before he had connected the dots, “Yes, the blue metal tunnel. You’d be our third tunnel-dweller, then.” She got to her feet, still favoring her twisted right ankle, and faced the gun-wielder.

“You speak true and well, Miss.” The man lowered his gun and pulled the dark hood back; a slightly receding hair line, close-cropped and orange-red, met with a beard of the same color, significantly framing the face of a middle-aged man with deep smile lines and long-tanned skin, almost leathery in appearance. His nose was crooked, broken at least once in what Addison felt sure had been a bar fight, for a deep scar grooved from the left of his nose across the cheek under one of his brown eyes. His overpowering stare beneath the hood had disappeared with the hood, and he was now smiling. He appeared no more harmful than an elderly gent in the park playing chess.

“Does me good to see people again,” he said, and began removing his slicker. Addison and Winn had managed to creep together after the gun had lowered, and now shared significantly confused and delighted expressions at this surprise. The newcomer had finished pulling his slicker off and underneath was a red flannel with light blue jeans, heavily faded and well-worn.

He stared at them a second, and then turned slightly red, apparently embarrassed. “Forgot to close the door, so I did.” And he turned to do just that. Addison understood this gesture immediately; the man had left his gun lying on the kitchen table, within reach if Addison had wanted it, and it was a show of faith that he turned his back, leaving himself defenseless. But Addison had the acute idea that even without his gun the brawny man could put up one hell of a fight. They stayed where they were until the back door closed, the outside sounds died, and the man gestured for them to back into the living room.

“We’ll have ourselves a cozy sitdown and talk, I think,” he said, ushering them through kindly, leaving his slicker but taking his gun in stride. Addison put forth his own gesture of goodwill by turning his and Winn’s backs to the man, half-hobbling with Winn at his side as they stepped through the door and to the warmly inviting couch, where he made sure to seat Winn furthest from the rocker, where the man would undoubtedly wish to sit. It provided a good vantage over the four entrances, and this man seemed alert to that fact as he turned the rocker slightly to take it from being a good vantage to an excellent vantage. He settled into the rocker with a heavy sigh as Addison sat in the middle of the couch, next to Winn.

“Ah…” the man said, settling himself fully before reaching into his shirt pocket for a pack of cigarettes. “Y’all don’t mind, I hope?” he asked, knowing full well they wouldn’t refuse him his addiction. Addison thought pleasantly that he and Winn at least had no withdrawals of that variety to go through.

The cigarette ignited from a Harley Davidson Zippo, and the man puffed it contentedly before finally saying, “I reckon we should at least share pleasantries. I go by Joe Davies and I hail proudly from good ol’ Oklahoma City, Oklahoma.” He reached a hand out, and Addison hesitated a split-second before reaching out his own. Joe had a solid, powerful shake that seemed to wilt his own. He remembered his father once lecturing him on the importance of a good handshake when meeting new people, and cursed himself for the slip.

“Addison Taylor. Cleveland, Ohio,” he said, feeling rather like a contestant on some bizarre reality show.

“Eevi Cox,” said Winn, throwing a nervous glance at Addison, “Eevi Winn Cox, from Salem, Oregon.” If it seemed weird that she and Joe did not shake on it, it felt like a slap that she hadn’t even used her first name when they met. “I’m sorry Addison. It felt safer to give you my middle name. And I didn’t lie, either. I go by Winn to most everybody.” Addison relented, flushing. He nodded and met her gaze; for a moment it seemed she was scared, a fearful glaze obscuring the brightness of the green of her eyes, but he couldn’t fathom what she had to fear from his finding out that Winn wasn’t her first name. The moment passed and Winn turned her attention back to Joe, who had grunted. Addison followed suit.

“Ahem. Sorry. Did anybody else see the coincidental states? We managed to have all three “O” states in one tunnel. Kinda funny, huh?” Joe asked, laughing a little, but it was forced.

“Yeah… we’ve been noticing a lot of ‘coincidences’ and ‘lucky breaks’ since we found ourselves outside the tunnel,” Winn said.

“How… how exactly did you come by all that gear?” asked Addison. It had not occurred to him until that moment that Joe didn’t seem out of sorts at all. He did, in fact, have clothing, rain protection, cigarettes, probably food, and of course, the shotgun. “I mean, we woke up wearing what we went to bed with, and between us it wasn’t enough to make a bathing suit.”

“Well, I’m in the same boat, ya see, Addison.” He waved his hand to show he meant everything he had before saying, “I woke with everything I was sleeping with, too.”

Winn laughed. “Only nutcases and visionaries sleep with that much. So which are you?” Addison’s eyes widened; the look he gave her could have said many things, none of them useful or even repeatable, but “Are you out of your mind?” was definitely one of them.

Joe laughed heartily, as well. “Hopefully neither, probably a bit of both, though.” He pointed to his shotgun. “Hunting, I was, with two buddies. Ya gotta be prepared for anything in the woods, I always say.”

“That’s fine for you, Joe,” Addison said, slightly miffed that they had suffered such hardship while he tramped about warm and protected, and likely well-fed, “but we’ve barely scraped by. You came out of the tunnel first, right?”

“’Deed I did.”

“So how did you come to this cabin so much later than us?” Winn asked. “Where were you when we came out?”

Joe considered for several long moments, and Addison had the strangely ominous feeling that he was about to tell an outright lie. “I came out of that hole and bucked it straight north, thinking I’d heard engines in that direction. Where there’s an engine, there are people to keep it running, but the sound died and I’d spent so long on the path that I had to spend the evening. I backtracked to the clearing next morning, but you had already moved on. I followed your easy trail and then the storm hit, destroying whatever tracks you’d left, so I had a bit of a time following. I did, however, finally see signs of somebody, and so followed the Butterfinger wrapper down the trail until I’d come to this cabin.”

“Thought I’d get the drop on ya, seeing as how the two of ya could have been just as prepared as me. Seems I did that part wrong.” He laughed. “Miss Cox, are ya feeling okay? Ya look a bit sickly, so I say.”

Addison had neatly forgotten all about Winn’s fever. She nodded and reached for the blankets that had toppled to the floor earlier. “Just a little feverish. I’ll be good as new by morning.”

“I’ve got some meds that’ll likely help,” Joe proffered. He fumbled around in his various pockets but came up empty. “Musta left them in my bag.” His eyes widened. “Lord, I’ve left my pack outside in the rain! My mama always said I was addle-brained.” He stood and walked back into the kitchen, leaving his shotgun behind.

“What do you think, Winn? Can we trust this guy?” Addison asked immediately after the door swung inward.

“I don’t think we have the option,” she replied, snuggling deeper into her blankets. “If he has aspirins, he has my trust, or at least my gratitude. Can’t ask for more than that… not at this point.”

Addison reached forward to feel how warm her forehead was, and found it covered in cold sweat but burning underneath. “Your temperature’s trying for the skies again. Whatever needs to be said between the three of us, I think it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

Winn waved her hand and quietly remarked, “Whatever,” but it came out as a whisper, as if she were falling into sleep while she said it. Addison stood up to go back into the kitchen, thinking to get some water before Joe ambled back in. For all his worldly comforts and amiable smiles, Joe was not to be trusted. Of that, Addison was sure.

He stepped back through the swinging door into the kitchen, and scratched his elbow again. Joe stood with a heavily-soaked black duffel bag, closing the back door; Addison wondered if perhaps Joe was carrying body parts in it. He shook the thought aside, knowing that Winn was right. There would be a time and place for distrust, just not yet.

Joe smiled winningly again as he took notice that the kitchen was not still empty. Addison pretended that he’d only come into the kitchen for the glass of water, and Joe moved closer, setting the duffel bag on the table. He began to rummage through its contents, slinging out small parcels and bags as he went. He hummed something almost under his breath, a tune that Addison knew, but couldn’t place. Definitely country, though. Addison tried not to look interested in the duffel bag’s innards while he filled the glass from the water pitcher on the counter. His elbow was itching again, and he finally took more than a cursory notice of it. A tick was burrowing its determined way inside. He pinched its thick little body and pulled it out, and forgot completely about it.

“Joe?” he said, as if asking for express permission before speaking. Joe looked up. “We have a lot of ground to cover, so to speak, and we definitely need to move fast, but Winn’s fever has gotten worse again, so if you don’t mind, I think we need to let it rest until she’s better. Her… way of thinking, it could be useful.”

Joe considered for a few seconds, then nodded. “I agree. She does look a might under, and ‘sides that,” he said, suddenly brandishing a bottle of some generic headache medicine, “there’s a few things we can deal with while she’s leveling out , if’n you’re up for some fun.” He tossed the bottle to Addison and went back to his bag. “Come on back in here once she’s settled.” He then started humming again, and whatever the song was, it contained deep memories of heartache and pain for Addison.

“Uh, thanks.” With feelings of uncertainty and foreboding, Addison left the kitchen with glass and bottle in hand, the haunting tune drifting out in jaunts and spurts as the swinging door opened and closed. The fire had died down somewhat, and in the newly formed darkness, Winn was only just visible within the folds of her blanket, laying sprawled all across the couch now.

He sat on the edge of a cushion at Winn’s midsection, intending not to immediately disturb her, but her eyes opened as he sat, full of alarm at first and then drifting half-closed in relaxed relief, emeralds half-hidden under the sand. Addison produced the soaked rag from the bowl on the coffee table; they sat in silence as he deliberately and delicately tended her. The rag sat once again on her forehead, significantly damp, as she greedily swallowed two of the tiny yellow pills, polishing off the glass of water in the process. She leaned back once again, situating herself comfortably in a half-sitting position.

“Joe says there are some things to take care of before we get down to the heart of the discussion. I’m apt to help him if only to give you time to break the fever. I think he means to leave the house, though, for a time at least. I don’t know that I should. What if the actual owner of this house shows up while we’re traipsing about?”

Winn regarded him with a cool serenity he would not have thought possible given her sickness. “If whoever lives here is even still around, he’s probably part of this mystery as much as we are. We were forced on this path and he’s in the way, for better or worse. There’s a word for that…” She struggled with the thought.

“Deus ex machina,” Addison answered for her. He knew the term well from years of reading mystery novels, and of course the occasional English class. The best ones tried hard not to pull the Greek god from the sky to save the day, as it was generally regarded as lazy and uncreative. He personally hoped for several such interventions during the course of their adventure.

“That’s the one,” Winn said sleepily. “Or three. Whatever.” She turned on her side, loosing the rag from her forehead. “Go on and take care of business.” She then seemed to fall instantly to sleep.

I’m glad you’re so willing to trust fate, because I certainly can’t, he wanted to say – to shout – but found he couldn’t. She’d been right so far and had saved them time in the deciding. He plucked the rag and dipped it back into the bowl, then smoothed her steadily tangling hair before getting to his feet. As much as he wanted to stay and protect her from the unknown, he had a similar urge to go with Joe, thinking that it was the only way he would be able to protect her.

He took up the shotgun from the chair and stepped back through the kitchen door, and to his relief, Joe had stopped humming that sad, listless tune. The words would still not come to him on the song, but he thought it might be in some way relevant to their situation. He also considered that he was over-analyzing everything in obsessive detail, like a conspiracy theorist finding devious plots and schemes in the paper boy’s route.

Joe looked to him questioningly, probably because he was now toting the shotgun as if he knew how to use it. Addison relented his position by handing Joe the shotgun. “She’s all settled. What did you have in mind while she rests?” he asked, hoping he hadn’t just committed the ultimate stupidity by giving up the gun. Trust… he thought, committing himself to it, at least for now.

“Gun weren’t loaded, as it were,” Joe said, smiling devilishly. The man certainly liked to smile, and he did it naturally enough. It had the effect of melting the distrust he’d felt thus far. He felt dumb at hearing the gun was never loaded.

“Oh, it was loaded when I busted in, all right, but I know just a bit o’ magic,” he continued, flourishing his hand like a true magician. “Thought I’d see just how far I could trust ya, see?” Addison saw; for some reason it had not dawned on him that Joe would have been questioning their trustworthiness just as surely as they had questioned his. “Good then, we’re on the same page. God’s almost done crying out there. Musta been a hell of a sad one.”

“Sad one?” Addison asked, utterly confused.

“Sad movie,” he explained, as if to a child. “Lord loves his sad movies this time of year. Least, that’s how I like to say it.”

Addison laughed. It proved impossible to dislike this man.

“Yeah, so anyway, Addison, we’re going out in the dark. Normally, I’d like to settle down for the evening, and ya look like you certainly need it, but I got something that’s too important not to show ya right now. Could save our lives later on if we all know of it.”

“What is it?” Addison asked, suddenly fearful.

“Couldn’t tell ya. Here, put these on. I don’t have any spare boots, but this’ll keep ya warmer than a sheet,” Joe said, tossing over a bundle of clothing.

“Is it… dangerous, what we’re doing?”

“Could be. Won’t know ‘til we see it, so let’s get it over and done.”

*****

The rain had indeed lessened its mad fall. This comforted Addison little, as his feet were still bare and they had begun to numb the moment he slipped into the first icy puddle. By the meager beam of Joe’s cheap flashlight, Joe and Addison trudged through the darkened and muddy forest, away from the safe haven that was the log cabin. Addison’s new clothing gave him the look of a college student: baggy jeans with ripped knees and a crimson hoody, what he felt sure would have been for Oklahoma University, given where Joe came from. Addison had cinched the belt as tight as it would go, as the jeans were indeed far too big to fit snugly without, but he would be damned if it did not feel wonderful to have true clothing again.

With the cabin now just a pinprick of firelight behind them, Joe led them back along the road they had all traveled to get here until he was sure they had returned to the place or beyond where he and Winn had first left the forest. Addison had meant to make conversation at first, but Joe would just shh him when he tried, and the fear that Joe was nothing more than a liar and potential rapist crept back. He had only begun to formulate a means of escape when Joe suddenly halted.

“Look here,” he said in barely a whisper, most of the accent gone from lack of voice. He gestured to the ground, where Addison now saw the lumped form of some beast, probably killed by another animal. His fear of Joe subsided long enough to fear whatever had killed the poor animal, but upon closer inspection, he found that the creature was of a sort he had never seen before. Its fur was black and deep red lined in circumspect angles, like a tiger who’s stripes were actually ornate patterns writ upon its body; the shape of the body in its slumped form bore a vague semblance to that of a cat, or perhaps more appropriately given the size, a bobcat. From what Addison could remember from his science classes in high school (regrettably little), forests of this nature usually did not shelter wildcats. This particular beast had a large gash in its midsection that forced Addison to turn away, feeling sick.

“Now ya see why we’re out here,” Joe grunted in that wind whisper.

“I… I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Naw, ya’d be a right fool to linger. Come on, we’re heading back.” Joe turned and began to walk, shotgun raised. Addison kept close, feeling the soggy road beneath less and less due to the numbness, and was tempted to bolt forward like he had done earlier in the day. But Joe kept a slow, steady pace, and they crept along the road like they’d be attacked any second from all directions. The fear bubbling inside him now was that they might be attacked any second now.

A thought struck him and he voiced it. “Joe, have you noticed a lot of animals since you woke up here?”

“Nope. ‘Sides the birds and our friend back there, haven’t seen a beast big or small. I been wondering what happened to ‘em all, but I reckon that cat-thing’s got friends of its own and they have quite the appetite. Now quit the yapping. I don’t like repeating myself and anything we say out here will be said in there,” he said, pointing to the cabin they could just barely make out now.

Addison’s face grew hot, but he kept his mouth shut as they neared the cabin. His teeth now chattered and the hoody was thoroughly soaked so that it clung limply and coldly to his body like sagging red flesh. The warmth of the fire beckoned him onward, but he stopped short when a peculiar sight took him by surprise; the front door of the cabin opened and closed, but Winn had not been standing on either side of the door. It seemed strange at first, and Addison thought it may have just been the wind.

But then Winn screamed.

Addison took off blindly forward, not caring whether Joe had seen or heard or was following at all. He tore up the steps and through the front door in just enough time to see the intruder slinking off into the kitchen. It had been another of those tiger-things, he was sure of it. And this one was definitely alive. He practically hurtled the furniture to get to the door, looking frantically for a weapon to use against a wildcat; finding nothing he slammed forward once more, intent now to wrestle if he had to.

Please, God, let me make it, he prayed. The bathroom door stood closed on the wall adjacent to the kitchen door and next to another door that led to a bedroom, but it sprang open as he passed it. He screamed, but Winn grabbed him and pulled him through the door before he could properly react. The door slammed shut behind the two of them and before he knew it, they were locked in a tight embrace. The tension and fear melted at once. Winn was trembling, but she was okay.

“Oh, thank God you’re all right,” Addison said quietly. “Was it one of those tiger-looking things?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered. “Addison, I… I think it… it spoke to me.”

She still looked feverish, but her eyes shone with verdant clarity. Addison nevertheless said, “You’re still sick. What happened?”

Faint incredulity creased her brow, but she let it pass. “I was lying on the couch just now when I- Where’s Joe?” she asked suddenly.

“He was right behind me! He’s got the gun, though.” Addison turned to the door and whispered through it, “Joe, if you’re out there, say something.”

They waited a few tense moments, listening intently before Joe answered, “I’m here. The two of ya all right?”

“Yes,” Winn answered. “The… cat-thing… it didn’t try to attack me that I could tell, but I panicked.”

“Joe, it’s in the kitchen,” Addison urged. “Hang on.”

They cracked the door open and peered out. Joe stood watching the kitchen door, shotgun at the ready. He nodded to them and they stepped out of the bathroom, clutching each other like scared children. Addison noticed that the front door had been closed and marveled at how – in the excitement of the moment – neither he nor Winn had heard anything outside the bathroom.

Winn asked, “What should we do?”

“I’m gonna shoot it,” Joe answered shortly. “What else do ya expect?”

“I… I don’t know,” she said. “I guess, if you have to.”

Addison intervened. “So how do we do this, Joe? Do you just run in and start firing, or what?”

“Just wait in the bathroom. You’ll know when it’s over, one way or the other. Now git in there.” He said that last with an air of speaking to cattle, and it prickled new gooseflesh on Addison’s arms and the nape of his neck.

Winn looked ready to stop Joe to mention the cat-thing’s talking, but Addison shook his head and ushered her back into the bathroom, urgently but careful enough to keep her from putting too much pressure on her twisted right ankle. Winn’s eyes blazed with fury or resentment or worry, but Addison didn’t care at the moment. He listened silently and attentively for anything, knowing that to hear something other than that shotgun meant Joe was probably dead. The seconds passed and Addison’s heart beat faster. He was suddenly holding Winn’s hand, once again incognizant of the motion until it was done; her pulse beat through her body in unison with Addison’s while they waited, and for those few tense moments they ceased to be individuals.

Things happened quickly. The shotgun fired; Addison fell back in terror, expecting but not prepared for it to happen; his hand slipped from Winn’s grasp, but she had lost balance and was toppling over, too. A loud and angry snarl erupted from the kitchen, animalistic but tinted with something familiar – pride, maybe? The kitchen door pounded hard against their door, heavy footfalls padded quickly past back out into the black of night, and silence once again ruled.

Addison had hit something on the way down, but the pain and the presence of blood were far away, as all his attentions were now focused singularly on finding out that Winn and Joe were okay. His own falling had cushioned Winn, and she was now sitting upright, looking simply terrified, rubbing her twisted ankle.

“Go,” she ordered, trembling. “I’m okay. Get Joe.”

Addison nodded and stood. He felt lightheaded but relieved that nothing had happened to Winn. He opened the door with what he dimly felt was reckless abandon, but his heightened senses told him it was safe. Stepping through both the bathroom and the kitchen doors, he found Joe slumped in a corner – the same corner Winn had hidden in when Joe had first arrived – and thought he was dead. Then his head lifted and Addison knew everything was all right. Joe was laughing.

“I- It… heh, haha, it… God, it spoke to me, Addison. I panicked. Things aren’t supposed to talk, are they? Maybe I imagined it.”

Addison wished he had, but Winn and Joe couldn’t both be delirious or insane, could they? He hoped not, but he also hoped that the beast wasn’t actually talking, as well. “No,” he finally whispered, “It said something to Winn, too. Before we got here. Joe, what happened?”

Joe got to his feet when he heard Winn’s name. “Is she-“

“She’s fine. Come on. Let’s get the fire going again and we’ll sit down to have our talks.”

“What I need is some stout whiskey with my talk,” Joe muttered, but he followed into the living room.

*****

“So, where do we begin?” Joe asked, settling himself in the rocker. The fire was now built up again, roaring heartily, and the rain had ebbed. The pitch blackness of the night had moved on as well, giving way slowly to the patchy grey of moonlight and eventual sunrise. Addison sat uneasily on the couch with Winn, but it was not because of her that he felt awkward; the fall in the bathroom had nicked the back of his head and she had insisted on dressing the wound, though inexpertly. He’d taken a couple of the pain pills Joe proffered, but the dull throb of a migraine now pushed in from all sides, and if not for thoughts of concussion, he’d have let himself fall asleep. Unlike Winn, he had given no time to resting for there had been no time.

“I think we need to leave this until morning,” Winn said. “You two look exhausted and I know I am. What could it hurt?” Addison pondered the circumstances of her suggesting this; it was not like her, or at least as much of her as he knew. Perhaps worry and weary played a part for her after all.

“I’d like to agree,” Addison said. “Love to, in fact. But something tells me we’ve put this off for longer than we should have. There are too many coincidences and too many as yet hidden answers for us to keep waiting,” Addison finished, feeling as though he had just given a speech.

“I’m all for it,” said Joe, pulling at his beard thoughtfully. “This is just as confusing now as it ever was, and I’d like some answers.”

Addison and Joe looked at Winn, who nodded regretfully. “I know. Let’s get it over with.”

Joe took the lead. “What do we know for sure at this point?”

Winn answered, “Only that nothing is sure and everything’s weird.”

“Let’s cover the basic facts. Someone or something has brought us to this time and place – yes, Winn, if this is even still our world, it can’t be our time – and left us some vague clues as to what our purpose is to be. There’s definitely-”

“Wait, let’s talk about the riddle-things,” Winn cut in. “I’m sure Joe has one, and he’d probably be interested to hear ours.”

“So I do, and so I am.” Joe smiled. “But I’ll thank ya for allowing me to go last.”

“Fair enough,” Addison said, and continued, “’RecitE and enjoy, for the Path is alwAys open. I trust you undeRstand.’ [/i]REPAIR[/i].”

Winn jumped in immediately, “‘wheRe lies the Earth’s Greatest secret, mAke an Innocent maN beg.’ REGAIN.”

“That’s an odd one,” Joe said. “I mean yours, Addison. Doesn’t sound like much but instructions past getting into the blue-tube.”

Addison’s mouth opened. He meant to protest, but could not. “I… hadn’t thought of that. I guess you’re right.” His brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t write it off that quick, though. We don’t know for sure we’ve even figured out everything there is to know from these riddles.”

“True,” Joe said, “so is anyone else the least bit scared of Winn right now?”

Winn gasped. Addison laughed. He said, “Sorry, Winn, but I doubt that either of us are exactly ‘innocent.’” He moved closer to her and put an arm around her, but she had stiffened under the accusation, no matter the jest involved.

“Okay, then, Joe, let’s hear yours,” Winn said accusingly. Addison did not like the way the conversation was going.

Joe shifted awkwardly, but began, “’something Recent can savE a Life. Ill is the solVent of your desirE.’ RELIVE.”

“And you’re worried about mine?” Winn almost shrieked, incredulous. “Whatever mine means, it’s straight-forward. Addison’s isn’t even troubling. Joe, yours says a lot and it makes me uneasy.”

“I know, I know,” Joe said, seemingly ashamed; he hung his head down for the full effect.

“Easy, now,” Addison said, hoping to stop this before it got too big. “These riddles are important portents of a nature unknown to us at this point. We probably stand to gain or lose much depending on our understanding of these clues, but we can’t dwell on them now.”

Winn sighed. “I’m sorry, Joe. Let’s change the subject.” Joe nodded his assent and for all intents seemed to forget anything bad had happened. “What’s next, Addison?”

“Well, uh…” Addison blanched. He had lost the ease of speaking he had picked up when they started tonight. He was not used to being in control like this, at least with people his own age. “Coincidences,” he nearly blurted.

“What about them?” Joe asked.

“We’ve been conveniently running into things when we are on the brink of needing them most. Without water, food, and clothing we ran first into a hot spring. Water, and warmth through the night. We hit a road that led us straight to this house, where we found water to drink, shelter from the storm, clothing for our backs, and canned food in multiples of three. Three tunnels led into one, and three people emerged. Three is our lucky number, it would seem.”

“What you’re saying is that we, so far, are still following the hidden path set before us?” Winn asked. Addison nodded. “Good.”

“What if this path leads us straight into those talking tiger-things?” Joe asked. “I don’t ever want to see one of those again.”

“Do all men worry this much about the future?” Winn chided.

“You just got lucky,” Addison cajoled, and she smiled despite herself. The meds they had both taken appeared to be having great effect on not just their bodies, but on their moods as well.

“I have another coincidence to bring up,” Joe said. “Ohio, Oklahoma, Oregon. Do the two of ya understand the significance?”

“Some asshole thinks it’s fun to place people together from alphabetically named states?” Winn proffered.

Addison thought it over a moment. “There are likely more of us out there,” he finally said

“Yep. Probably a whole slew of them out there. Maybe even different countries, as well.”

“Oh! I get it,” Winn exclaimed. “There’s a batch of ‘Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, and Arkansas’ out there somewhere, probably deliberating just like we are.”

“They probably tossed all the single states, Delaware, Florida, Georgia, Hawaii, Louisiana, and the rest in random packs. That could place those groups at a disadvantage,” Addison remarked.

“Why are we worried about these possibly fictitious groups, anyway?” Winn asked, exasperated. “I mean, we haven’t seen a single clue that they do exist, so why bother with it until we do?”

“Once again, Winn cuts through the muck,” Addison said good-naturedly. He looked at Joe, who smiled but said nothing. “Has anyone placed any consideration on just why we’re here?” Blank stares met him, and he tried to articulate. “I mean, why us specifically, and not some other Tom, Dick, and Jane instead?”

“We can’t very well answer that question if we can’t answer why we’re here, and I don’t think it’s important right now.” Winn could be stubborn when she wanted, that was for sure.

“There’s one last thing we need to hash out right now,” Joe suddenly said. “What in hell that tiger-thing was and what it said.” Quickly, he recounted the dead one he and Addison had seen outside. “Winn, do ya remember what it said?”

“Everything happened so fast, but I think it asked me to wait.” She shivered under Addison’s arm. “I can’t say I’ve ever been more scared in all my life than I was when that thing slinked in through the front door.”

“So it said ‘Wait,’” Addison remarked, not even a question. Winn nodded. This was insane. “What did it say to you, Joe?”

“… It said ‘All things exist only in their time, and you ran out of that long ago.’” Joe had managed not to inject his accent into the quote, and this surprised Addison only a little.

“Spooky,” Winn commented.

“Sounds dire,” Addison agreed.

“Why do ya think I shot at it?” Joe pleaded. “I’m beginning to think there ain’t none of us humans left in this world.”

Addison added, “I’m more concerned that it spoke English, rather than some other language unrecognizable to us.”

“What do ya think it means?” Joe asked.

“That we’re all nuts and the squirrels are coming to carry us off,” Winn answered, laughing only a little. “I think we need to get some sleep.” She was obviously disturbed, and Addison finally agreed with thoughts of rest.

Joe stood up. “I’ll take the first watch, so ya better sleep while ya can. Tomorrow I suggest we haul out before that speaking tiger comes back.”

Addison shook hands with the burly man, now a friend, and escorted Winn into the bedroom he had previously neglected use for fear of its owner finding a beautiful woman all alone in it. Like the rest of the cabin, it was a room of simple furnishings and economic elegance. A stand-up dresser filled with cobwebs and one lonely wire hanger sat against one wall, and a mirrored dresser sat against another. The queen bed in modest quilts took up the miniscule floor space, and Addison gently eased Winn onto it. He looked up at the window above the headboard and decided on some quick changes to the décor. Surprising Winn, he heaved hard on the bed, shifting it and her to a wall without a window; he then shuffled the heavy wood dresser over to the window, covering it completely.

“No reason to make it easy on any intruders,” he commented and made ready to leave the room, satisfied with the meager fortifications. Winn reached out and gently grabbed his arm to stop him.

“We’ve slept together two nights and now you’re leaving me all alone?” she asked, putting on her very best hurt expression.

Addison blushed. “What happened to you being vulnerable?”

“I’m not vulnerable when I’m with you, Addison.” She pulled him closer, so close that he had to sit on the bed or fall over. He chose to sit gracefully rather than fall hysterically.

“It’s not a good idea, Winn. We’re both injured,” he said, stalling.

Winn laughed. “Maybe someday, but not tonight. Just lie here with me, please.”

Addison turned sixteen shades of red darker than he thought possible. How could he have been so stupid? He smiled, saving as much face as he could, and laid down on the surprisingly soft mattress, removing his damp hoody in the process. Winn did the same, facing away from him, and before Addison knew what he was doing, he had placed his arm around her. Betraying no sense of surprise, Winn only held his hand and said goodnight.

“Goodnight, Winn. Eevi,” he added, almost as an afterthought. She shuddered involuntarily at that, but did not comment. Addison pulled the covers over them and they slept peacefully, for the first time together by choice rather than necessity.

*****

The sky retained that perfect cerulean blue that only comes after a particularly violent storm; there were broken branches in the path, leaves aplenty covering dangerous muddy ruts, and the wind was even colder than days previous. The trio was walking, heading east along the dirt path. Though the road was now a muddy mess that sunk with every step they took, they stayed on it, having agreed that they were vulnerable no matter where they were, but that at least they could see something coming at them on the road. Winn and Addison, lacking shoes or boots of any kind, stayed on the grassy covering in the center of the lane as much as possible, but for all their effort, they still had dark brown feet less than an hour after starting. Winn walked along as best she could with a makeshift walking stick Addison and Joe had fashioned from two legs from the kitchen table; Joe joked that it could be a weapon as well, but Addison worried that it might have to be.

Winn still wore the dark-blue bedsheet; underneath she kept the briefs from Addison and a spare white undershirt from Joe. The undershirt was the kind she always remembered being referred to as a “wife-beater” and was several sizes too large, giving it more the appearance of a shift under a Greek gown than a cheap shirt worn by hillbillies unworried about appearances. All together the ensemble felt rather laughable to her, but she conceded that she would much rather wear this than nothing at all.

Addison remained wearing the pair of jeans and red hoody from the night before, while Joe still wore everything but the rain slicker. Winn imagined he had packed it away in his big duffel bag, now slung over his shoulder. Her sprained ankle, now wrapped tightly with bandages from Joe’s duffel bag, hindered their pace less than she thought it would have. She found herself silently thanking whatever gods there were that had put Joe in their path. Without him, they would certainly not have been able to travel in so short a time.

At first no one spoke. After the disturbing events of the day prior, Winn figured her two companions to be deep in thought as to what it all meant, and so concentrated less on the tiger-thing’s cryptic message, choosing instead to dwell on the instructions left to each of them before their escapes:

Recite and enjoy, for the path is always open. I trust you understand.
Where lies the earth’s greatest secret, make an innocent man beg.
Something recent can save a life. Ill is the solvent of your desire.

Repair.
Regain.
Relive.

She mulled the three codes that had released them from their prisons or shelters or whatever it was they had been in. With no clear intention of why she thought of them, she settled instead on the actual phrases. She hated trying to think ahead past the moment, but saw no other choice in the present, which made her grin ruefully. She had wondered at it before falling asleep the night before, but she could not help the nagging feeling right behind her eyes that there was an obvious truth contained in the phrasing, if only she could pluck it out. If only she could write it down! Bringing it all up from recall became confusing and she soon felt cross-eyed.

She broke the silence at once, realizing that Joe might have pen and paper. “Joe, do you have something I could write on, and with?”

Joe’s eyes widened first in surprise, then amusement. “Are ya looking for a game o’ Hangman?” Addison only frowned.

“No, but I thought if you had a pen and a notepad or something, it would be a good idea to… I don’t know, chronicle the events as they come? Write down some thoughts, get some concrete ideas about what’s going on here?”

Addison frowned deeper this time before saying, “That’s actually a great idea. Why didn’t we think of it?” He let slip a sliver of a smirk. “And here I thought you were the impetuous one.”

“I’m not impetuous, I’ve just always gone with the flow,” Winn bit back, perturbed and slightly annoyed. She hated the term “impetuous”: a high school teacher had insisted on terming her Miss Impetuous, and later on, Miss Impetus. She was never sure which term she disliked more, but coming from Addison it stung deep.

Apparently sensing that he had stepped on a touchy subject (if not why), Addison changed tact immediately. “Ok, Winn, what does ‘going with the flow’ have to do with your sudden adamancy on writing things down? Hardly seems something a wave rider would do.” The smirk had come back. So he thought this was funny, did he?

She ignored him for a moment. “Joe, do you have pen and paper?”

“I think I’ve got just the thing. Hold on,” he answered, slinging the duffel bag from his shoulders in such a practiced toss that the straps fell naturally into his grasping fingers, and then without ever pulling taut, the bag slid gracefully to a dry - or perhaps less wet - overgrowth of grass in the middle of the dirt lane. He began rummaging in a side pouch, and then the other side pouch.

Addison halted while they waited. “You know, we’ve come pretty far since setting out. I’m all for a quick break while we sort this out, and perhaps a bite to eat.” He looked to Winn. She only nodded, for her breath had been coming in ragged gasps and a violent stitch in her side had only erupted when she had stopped moving. Lord, but she could feel it in her calves! And more specifically her sprained ankle, but she had not dared to call a halt on her own behalf. Finding a soft and dry (less wet) spot proved easy, for they had chosen to stop in an area where the path seemed to disappear more or less twenty feet or so in each direction, giving them a convenient and thankfully mudless area to rest. She plopped unceremoniously to the plush carpet of wildgrass and weeds, digging absentmindedly between her muddy toes with a stick; Joe dug determinedly inside his duffel bag, hunched over and looking like he meant to insert his own body into the bag, like a contortionist she had once seen at a carnival. The thought of the stout and sturdy Joe folding himself into a duffel bag sent shivers of repressed giggles down her spine, and she merely grinned.

Joe produced a small yellow pad of paper with the binding ring on the top that Winn knew well. She had taken enough shorthand on them in her previous life to feel a sort of hollow sadness at the sight of it; she wondered when she had begun to think of it as “her previous life,” but it felt right in her mind, so she contented herself to ride the wave. Joe then fished around for another minute and out popped a plain-as-you-please blue-tipped retractable pen. Joe tossed it through the air followed shortly by the pad and gave Winn a questioning look. She clicked the pen, tested it against the paper, and delighted to find the blue ink discharged in thin but full lines.

“Tell me your instruction-thingies again, including which letters formed the passwords,” she instructed, and they obliged, so that she had filled the first page with this information in a neat and flourishing scrawl. She flipped the page to the back of the pad and began writing in their full names and where they were from, and also the order in which they had come out of the metallic blue tunnel, not knowing why this would or should be important, but noting everything she could remember. She stopped momentarily, trying to recall any other events that bore writing down; she began to chew on the end of the pen in concentration, a habit as old as she and one unsuccessfully mastered over the years.

“Can you two think of anything else that we should write down?” she asked around the pen.

“What about the cat-creatures?” suggested Addison, “Surely they deserve a mention.”

“Ok, what did it say?” Winn glanced in Joe’s direction, expecting him to dictate, but he only shifted uncomfortably. “Joe?”

“‘All things exist only in their time, and you ran out of that long ago,’” Addison answered and Winn scribbled away. He looked at Joe with the same quizzical expression Joe had dispensed upon Winn minutes before, as if to say “What’s the deal?”.

Joe shrugged. “I’ve slept since then, couldn’ remember exactly,” he muttered defensively. And did Addison keep a closer eye on Joe after that? Winn thought so.

“Okay, so we’ve got the beginning of our little venture, we’ve got names and we’ve got a spooky talking animal. Speculations?” Winn looked expectantly to each man.

“What happened to going with the flow?” Addison posed.

Winn gave him an indulgent stare. “This is me treading water,” she said, indicating the pad and paper, “and I need a wave to ride on, otherwise we all drown. Generate some waves.” She cared little for this bantering Addison, but still leaned forward eagerly with the pen poised to write his next words. He is the brains in this operation, for ill or good, she chided herself.

Now on the spot, Addison blushed and then stuttered in his flustered beginning. “We-well, I think-- I mean, it’s obvious, but the tiger-things are probably, you know, our biggest concern right now.” He grew noticeably more confident – in gesture and speech – the longer he spoke, and was soon focusing his thoughts on the problem. “Let’s take some things into consideration here, and – for the sake of argument – decide on some things that are likely true. The first is that we are still on Earth.” Winn nodded, scribbling this down, and Joe smiled. “The next is that whatever happened to us, it was orchestrated by someone or someones unknown, possibly not even human, given the tiger-things.” More scribbling and nodding. “The tigers seem to be against us, but we can’t discount the dead one. No telling what else is out there, good or bad, so we can’t just assume that whatever killed the tiger is helping us. We’re aliens in hostile territory, no matter where we are.”

Winn had not thought of this, but she hurriedly jotted the idea down anyway. Before Addison could continue, Joe broke his stride by interjecting a thought of his own, “Seems to me that anything killing the tigers is likely on our side.”

“It’s nice to think that, Joe, but I doubt the legitimacy given our circumstances. If we approach something unfamiliar, there is the possibility of solidifying this idea, but until then, the world is the enemy.” Joe’s shoulders sagged, as though he had intended Addison and Winn to think in this way, and their refusal to blindly go along hindered him. Winn thought this and in the same instant discarded it: overthinking had never been her strong point, and Joe had proven himself too innocuous to be held in suspicion. More likely Joe only wished his theory held more water to give their dire situation less gravity, and now that Addison had shot it down, his sadness deepened.

“The last thing is that we’re obviously meant to go somewhere and do something, and our instructions and passwords are definitely clues as to the destination and activity,” Addison finished lamely, knowing he had only retread the same path they had already established.

“I think that’s fine for now, Addison.” Winn gestured for him to take a seat next to her on the soft sod. He gratefully sank to his bottom. Joe passed around a leather waterbag, watching each in their turn gulp greedily of the blessed liquid inside before ending the drought for himself. Parched throat now quenched, Winn took to examining the objects at her disposal, feeling a peculiar affinity for the pen and pad; she viewed these mere commonalities as artifacts – relics, even – of the past. A past that she had reconciled never to see again. Had she known Addison revered their can opener with the same talismanic quality, she would not have laughed.

While Joe and Addison bandied back and forth on the reason that Joe carried such an arcane waterbag instead of thermoses or just good old jugs of water – Joe claiming aesthetics over practicality (though he used less florid speech), Addison laughing – she studied each scrap of paper, involuntarily flipping back to the first page, sensing through her invariably good intuition that there was truth to be gained from the instructions, though not the actual meanings of each phrase. She searched first for possible anagrams between the passwords, but eventually turned her attention to the way each instruction was constructed. Addison’s line was very direct, lacking thought, feeling – subtlety in general; her own line seemed to suggest malice, some deep sense of foreboding and doom; and Joe’s line, while sounding dire, had a very romantic and mysterious quality that spoke of deep longing and possibly loss.

The truth snapped in place immediately and she laughed. Joe seemed to take it for granted that her amusement was at his own wit; his face stretched into the good-natured smile she had come to recognize in the lines of his face, even the ones hiding behind his grizzly red beard. To her direct left, Addison frowned with a look of agitation and – bless him! – jealousy.

“The phrasing is different! Look here,” she exclaimed, recounting her discovery. “The same person or thing or whatever that wrote Addison’s line could not have written either my or Joe’s line. They’re just too dissimilar for that.” She smiled broadly at both Addison and Joe in turn. To her confusion and dismay, neither seemed to glean the significance.

“So we’ve figured out that there’s definitely more than one person-“ Addison started, but Joe interjected with, “or thing,” and Winn followed up with , “or whatever,” before Addison could finish. “Okay, let’s simplify that right now,” he said in mock irritation, revealing only a small smile, “how about… ‘entity’?”

“Hm… too ‘cheesy science fiction,’” Winn offered, and Joe laughed.

“Um…” Addison stalled, obviously raking his mental thesaurus, “let’s see… ‘being’?” He looked hopefully between his two companions. Why this term had been imbued with such importance Winn could not guess, but if Addison had decided it needed consideration, it would probably go a long way toward halting that big ulcer he desperately wanted to form if they decided quickly.

“I like it,” Joe said, and Winn nodded her approval. Something like relief passed over Addison’s brow, causing a sigh of incomprehension from Winn. Some men, she thought, a playful smile the only betrayal of her mind.

Addison continued again. “So… we’ve figured out that there’s definitely more than one ‘being’ involved in this. Why is that especially significant?”

“Would you rather be in this at the mercy of one madbeing? Or could we content ourselves that more than one behind the curtain signifies organization, which in turn signifies a growing realization that what we’re about is indeed of some great importance, rather than just the candid machinations of a crazy somebeing that wants to see us struggle in hopeless endeavor?”

“For a girl just goes with the flow, ya sure got a thinkin’ cap on, Winn,” Joe said, amusement and awe both in his voice.

“So are we agreed?” Winn asked.

Addison’s eyes had only grown wider and wider during her revelations, but he finally stirred, as if coming out of a trance. “I’ll never call you impetuous again,” he said with a slight inclining of his head. His dark brown eyes glimmered with respect and something more as he met her eyes; she would not contemplate the something more, and broke eye contact.

“There’s something else here…” Addison said, frowning suddenly as he stared at the instructions on the page. “Not just the phrasing itself, but why are these things so cryptic? Why not just tell us what needs doing rather than play these mind-games?”

Winn grimaced. Back to the speculating. Joe surprised Addison by having an answer, “I thought about it myself a bit while I was on watch last night. Way I figure it, these bein’s know stuff we don’t, things that’d blow the mind, so to speak. Whatever the deal is, we’re to show ourselves ready for the information, and good enough for the… revelation.”

“What, like we have to prove our ability to handle whatever comes our way?” Winn asked, bemused.

“That would be part of it, but we have to show that we’re worthy of having been chosen,” Addison surmised, and Winn surprised herself by writing this down. “Come to think of it, hasn’t either of you realized the differences between us?”

“Like what?” Joe asked.

“Well… Joe, for instance, you’re big into hunting. Without you, Winn and I would be in a lot more trouble. You were prepared for disaster before being swept away on this mind-bender. You’re stout and clever and at least ten years my senior. Perfectly capable of surviving in a strange environment. Neither Winn nor myself could have lasted long past the cabin without you.” Addison looked feverish with excitement.

“What else about me do you already know?” Joe inquired further, somewhat uncomfortable in the position of praise.

“Well, you’re a fan of smoking, which will be a hindrance soon enough. You’re able to see patterns and take things as they come faster than either of us. You made it out of the tunnel first, and apparently a lot earlier. What was your job before this?”

“Carpenter,” Joe answered.

“See? You’re the backbone of this operation, all the muscle and survivalism and tuition we would need to see us through safely,” Addison finished, obviously feeling accomplished in his deductions. Joe blushed furiously, but said nothing.

“And me? Where do I fit in?” Winn asked, nervous but excited at what he would say.

“That’s easy. You’ve got a subtle but evident interest in science fiction and fantasy, which is why you’ve accepted our surroundings and all the strange happenings more readily than Joe and me. You more easily recognize when stalling and deliberating will get us nowhere, and you see the truth of things faster than anyone I’ve ever met.” Addison scratched at his arm, as though cautious and stalling for time. “What did you do in the before?” he asked.

“I played personal assistant to a well-known actress,” Winn said, wondering why it had come out so late.

“What, like, getting coffee and stuff?” Joe asked.

“Sure, that was pretty common, but mostly it was just making reservations, ensuring transportation, collating her hectic schedule. Determining what among the hundreds of things she had to do every week she would actually be doing each week, and what someone else would handle.”

“So you’re well-versed in rolling in the muck and hand-picking in record time what’s important enough to be considered, right?” Addison asked, and Winn nodded, suddenly aware that he really did understand her quite well. “Who was the actress?”

“I don’t see how that’s important,” Winn said. She refused to answer this question, for some reason regarding it as a secret worth keeping. Though, had she known it would pop up as such a game between Joe and Addison, she probably would have told them straightaway.

“And then there’s me,” Addison began, preparing to dissect his own personality and habits, and how they would help their situation, but Joe stopped him with a grunt.

“There’s something else about Winn you’re avoiding,” he said, for all his burliness once again blushing and shying away from talking.

Winn thought she knew what he meant, and said one of her least favorite words in the entirety of her well-endowed word-hoard, “Procreation.”

“Erm, yeah,” Addison said, shifting uncomfortably.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about it,” she sighed. “We’re all adults here, and you’re both still driven by hormones at least part of the time.”

“That old adage about ‘if we were the last two people on earth’ is quite apt here,” Addison said, blushing deeply.

“Possibly,” she answered noncommittally. “There is always a likelihood of there being a great many more groups like us out there.”

“Back to me,” Addison said, trying to divert the conversation away from this awkward situation. “I have an analytical nature, which I’ve always nourished with mystery novels and puzzles. If Joe is the muscle and heart, and Winn is the one who organizes and prunes information, then I’m the brains. I don’t fancy myself a leader or highly intelligent, but there’s a definite difference in the way we all think, and I’m the one with the logical circuits upstairs.”

“And Before?” Joe asked. There was an oddly important tone to “before” that gave it not just proper noun status, but also a reverence, as though Before was a time they could never revisit. It scared Winn that he was probably right.

“Shaping young minds,” he said solemnly. “I had recently taken over the History and Government classes in a high school in Cleveland. Most of my students cared little for either subject, but the few that I could engage their imaginations soared above the rest.”

“So you’re a scholar, and of a subject that may not help right now, but government and history are things to be regarded in any civilization,” Winn proffered.

“Exactly. Which is why I don’t fancy myself a leader, but that might not be a choice.” He fell into silence, and they sat awkwardly at this impasse for a time.

The sun was still hidden behind clouds, but as the deepening sky seemed to reflect the mood rather than the time of day, Joe finally stood up and said, “I think it’s best we get a move-on. Still no real inkling of where we’re goin’, but we may as well put a few more miles behind us. Addison got to his feet, helping Winn to hers before they finally set out again.

Hours later, the game began: “Julia Roberts,” Addison said out of nowhere as the wind picked up and dusk set in. They had gone perhaps ten miles total and Winn was ready to call it quits for the day, wishing sullenly for a hot bath, a warm blanket, and a feast to be set before her. Even potted meat would suffice at this point. So it was when Addison said Julia Roberts that she was pulled out of her reverie of a great feast in an old mead-hall.

“What about her?”

“Did you PA for her?”

“Wh- No. Why do you care?” she asked icily.

“C’mon, Before was the time of celebrity! Reese Witherspoon?” Joe jumped in, laughing.

“No, quit asking.”

“What about um… Sigourney Weaver?” Addison continued, completely immersed in this new “game.”

“No. No. No,” she answered continually for the rest of the afternoon until it became a mantra, something she said only by rote interest. As the light leeched from the day, their guesses became more and more infrequent, probably because they, like she, were famished, and also likely because they were running out of names. She could not even be sure they had not guessed correctly at some point, because she had stopped listening to the names after the first thirty or so.

“Well, it’s gettin’ dark, y’all,” Joe said after Addison had tried Sarah Michelle Gellar. “Let’s back off the road a bit and find a good place to camp.”

They did just as he suggested, finding a small clearing surrounded by young oak trees. Addison peered curiously at the oaks while Joe began talking of how late in the season they were likely to be, considering the trees and how vacant of leaves they were. He surmised that it would be especially cold at night, and that they would need warmer clothing before much longer. Winn did not like the sound of that, being a woman of slight form; since nothing could be done in the immediate situation, she disregarded it.

Joe left his Zippo lighter with Winn as she set her table-leg staff (also covered in mud several inches up) to lean against a tree while she plopped unceremoniously to the bed of leaves at its base. For yet another time she marveled at a manmade object in their current surroundings. To Joe the lighter would, she thought, represent a connection to the Before, much as the pen and pad had become her personal baubles.

Joe and Addison disappeared and reappeared frequently over the next half-hour or so, gathering dead sticks, twigs, branches, and bark to build and keep a fire overnight. She set about uncovering a space in the center of the clearing, fumbling clumsily with the dry tinder and branches. Joe came back as she was finishing, and then laughed with an air of commiseration at her attempt to make a fire-pit.

Addison returned shortly with Joe’s dusty waterbags filled to bursting, having discovered a tiny stream cutting rivulets into the surrounding landscape. With the water set aside, Addison took a seat next to Winn on the multicolored bed of leaves as Joe began what would turn into a tutelage of wilderness survival: Lesson One – How to Build a Fire. Joe started by clearing a larger circle of leaves, claiming all the dry leaves would start a forest-fire if they were not careful. Then he brushed aside all the sticks Winn had piled up (Winn only sighed in discontent once at having her hard work destroyed), and then dug a large circle about two inches deep in the center using a small spade salvaged from the cabin’s shed that morning. He said that normally you would bed the pit with rocks, but as they had none, they could do without. He placed a small bed of thin twigs followed by some thick bark, then a large portion of dry leaves caged in by a teepee structure of branches and sticks, and declared the fire ready to burn.

Lacking any real fire-starting implements, Joe took a leaf, stuck it to the end of a stick, and lit it afire, watching it smoke and flame halfway up before shoving it in a small opening to the batch of leaves within. The leaves caught almost immediately, bellowing great heaps of woody smoke before finally dying down to reveal the bed of twigs and bark catching fire. The spew of smoke from the leaves dislodged a stick, which Joe then filled with more twigs and bark before closing it over again with more – and thicker – branches and limbs. By this time the smoke was pleasantly drifting one direction as they sat on the other side of the fire, watching the twigs burn up hot enough to catch the bark, and once the bark had started, the branches and sticks began to smoke and turn an ashen color.

“And that, folks, is how ya build a fire, so I say,” Joe finished, and Winn clapped appreciably as he bowed. Addison only smiled, his face a red flush in the firelight. “Now, I’m sure I ain’t the only one hungry enough to eat a whole cow, but we gotta ration until we find something to hunt, or better yet, a place like that cabin with some pantry stores. So we’ve got ravioli, tuna, and potted meat. Take yer pleasure, there.”

He unfolded a small knapsack into which all of their canned food had gone; due to their mid-day snack of a can of tuna, and two cans of potted meat, they now had one can ravioli, five cans tuna, and seven cans potted meat. Winn longed for the ravioli, but she held her tongue on that desire, since it made sense that Joe should eat it. She selected a can of tuna, and hastily began opening it as Joe and Addison each took a can of potted meat.

“At least we won’t need to heat any of this up,” Winn said, devouring the tuna.

“Sure, but who wants cold ravioli?” Joe said, laughing. His face turned dark immediately after. “We got a bigger problem, though. We’re gonna start sufferin’ from malnutrition in less than a week eating this stuff, if it even lasts that long. What if there ain’t no more stops on the way, no more cupboards to rummage, and nothin’ bigger’n blue jays to hunt? I can’t even shoot down a small bird with a shotgun. What about vegetables?”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” Winn said, believing this completely. “After all, what’s the point of bringing us here only to starve us to death?” Believing it did not fully expunge the fear and disquiet, though, and Joe – looking her directly in the eyes – knew it. He and Addison finished their potted meat in silence while she leaned back on the leaves and drank to fill the hollow spots in her stomach, relishing the campfire’s light and warmth. She looked up at Addison from behind, mostly hidden in silhouette by the fiery aura around his body. This gave her an icy chill down her spine for a moment, but she could not place her finger on the reason.

After he and Joe cleaned up the cans, rinsed the forks, and drank to their own contents, Addison finally spoke: “Joe, are you taking the first watch tonight?” Joe nodded, though he looked as though he wished he had better company, folks who would stay up late and tell scary stories in the dark. Winn agreed with Addison, though; she nodded to Joe and said goodnight while Addison pulled the thick blanket from the duffel bag (the very blanket they had heisted from the cabin), pulled the knot from the rope that held it fastened in a roll, accepted the poor excuse for a pillow that was his arm, and lay down as near the fire as he dared. Winn crawled on hands and knees, still having to support her right ankle, close to where he lay.

“Addison, have you room to spare?” she asked, feeling slightly awkward at having to ask after their last two nights of sleeping together, but also somewhat annoyed that he took the blanket when she was the cold-natured one. Addison opened his dark-brown eyes and favored her with a curiously small smile, then lifted the cover to allow her access. She clumsily rolled into his chest and immediately felt enveloped in heat – not just warmth, but heat. The cover closed around her, as did Addison’s arm, and she decided the excess warmth was due mostly to their close proximity of the fire. Without another word, and indeed without even shifting again, Addison fell into a peaceful rest, his breathing slow and regular.

She laid awake for only a minute or two more, listening to his breath, feeling each rise and fall of chest, the near reverberation of his heartbeat slowing, slowing, slowing to dreams and rest before she closed her eyes and matched his rhythm.

*****

UPDATED 08-18-2007

“Winn.” Someone had spoken her name. She tried to ignore it.

“Winn!” Could they not just leave her alone? This time the person shook her, delicately, but insistently.

“WINN!” More shaking. A sudden fear that a crazy madbeing had found her alone in the woods gripped her, and this vaulted her out of deep sleep.

“Winn, for Christ’s sake, wake up!” She did, slowly, ever so slowly, her thoughts and eyes still sleep-muddled as she said, “Whuzgoingon?” She knew just by his tone that it was Joe, and also that something was wrong, but felt instant relief that the madbeings were only in her mind.

“It’s Addison,” Joe said. She had come out of her rest far enough to understand that no unknown attackers had assaulted them, but with this realization came the knowledge that her back dripped with sweat. She pulled the blanket from around her, turning to look at Addison in the same instant. Fear stole her logic: in the firelight, what she had earlier taken for a rosy hue cast by the fire, his face shone deep crimson and his eyes fluttered madly behind his eyelids. Rivers of sweat seemed to rain from him, and as she pulled away, his body curled involuntarily into the fetal position. He shivered terribly but did not wake.

“God, what’s wrong with him?” Winn squeaked, wanting to comfort him, not knowing how, agonizing over what he might have and if it would prove contagious. The aliens in War of the Worlds had been bested by microbes unfamiliar to them. Perhaps this world was Earth, but what if the microbes, bacteria, and viruses had mutated so much as to be deadly? She feared to touch, and feared not to comfort.

“Whatever he’s got, I don’t think we’re gonna get,” Joe said. “Else we’d already have it.”

“But what is it?” she exclaimed. Finally her fear of losing Addison overcame her fear of getting sick, and she bent to his forehead, felt the immense heat radiating from his body, smelled the sour sweat of fever and body odor, but did not know what to do. There were no hospitals in this ****ing future!

“Could be just a cold, or the flu, or the start of pneumonia,” Joe said, seeming to almost physically rack his brains for answers as he rubbed his forehead violently. His eyes gleamed for a moment and he said, “Maybe an infection. Has he got any injuries, scrapes, cuts, burns?”

Winn cast about for what had happened to him during their journey together. “His finger! He ripped the fingernail off in frustration trying to get out of the blue-tube.” She reached for his hand and found the bandaged finger; ripping the small bandage as tenderly as possible, she discovered a bruised but healing fleshy spot where a fingernail should have been.

“What else?” Joe continued, and Winn thought harder.

“He banged the back of his head in the bathroom when you shot at the tiger-thing. I think it bled for a little bit.” Joe knelt to investigate the back of Addison’s head, but came up shaking his own.

“It’s healin’ fine, too. Is there another?”

“No… I don’t remember,” Winn said, downcast. “What do we do now?”

“Strip him down, find an infection if there is one,” Joe said, and pulled the blanket from Addison’s feeble grip. He struggled weakly at first as she and Joe checked first his feet, and then his hands and head, but by the time they extracted his body from the sweat-soaked hoody, he had fallen back into mostly just mutters and small groans. They found the cause sticking out blackly near his left elbow: small striations of deep red ran out from this black malignancy. Whatever it was, it had acted quickly and caused severe damage.

“By God, ya fool of a boy!” Joe said, instantly turning from Addison to his duffel bag, rummaging around for gods knew what as Winn only sat there holding his hand, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

Joe reappeared by her side with a small pocketknife. “What are you going to do?” she demanded.

“Winn, this is a tick that our friend here didn’ pull out all the way,” he said, freeing the blade of the knife from its casing; Winn felt mesmerized by the flames licking off the silvery edge. “When a tick burrows in and you just pull it out, you’re likely gonna get just its bastardly little backside. Kills it, sure, but the rest sticks around to rot and fester and infect. Addison did just that, and now I need to cut it out, ‘cause I ain’t got a pair o’tweezers.” He said this last like the last name of an Irish family, like O’Malley or O’Shaunessy, and despite their circumstances, Winn nearly laughed at the thought of a family of O’Tweezers. Then she felt shame that she thought anything at all could be funny.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

“Rebuild the fire, boil some water. Find the bandages and the triple antibiotic stuff. It ain’t much, but it’s the best I got. Not much in the way of sterile, though,”

Winn scurried to the duffel bag, heeding not the icy ground nor the biting chill of the night air. She pulled a zipper and plunged hands-first into its depths, scattering tins of food, the waterbags, the dinnerware from the cabin, a cast-iron pot, some spare clothing, cartridges for the shotgun, lengths of rope, and finally the dwindling set of bandages rolled around the antibiotic ointment. Fumbling with the bandages, she remembered the pot and the water almost as an afterthought; after gathering all the items together, she shoved the bandages and the medicine off on Joe, and began to build up the fire. In the process of bringing the water to boil, Winn heard a grunt of extraordinary pain issue from Addison. She turned to see what was happening, and recoiled at the sight of Joe kneeling on Addison’s arm, pinioning it to the ground while Addison thrashed, brandishing his knife like a man cornered, at his wit’s end. In that instant Winn feared him as a man capable of slicing her throat while she slept. She immediately cast that thought aside as impertinent. He was, after all, trying to save Addison’s life.

The water seemed to gain weight in the pot as her arms grew tired; when it finally began to boil, she almost dropped it in the attempt to shift it from one aching hand to the other. She forgot her sprained ankle in the moment, and realized too late the possible damage she was doing as she placed all her weight on her right foot to move forward. Icy hot pain lanced up her ankle and into her calf – enough agony that should have caused her to tumble and fall – but she was coursing with adrenaline, determined to help keep Addison healthy, and remained upright.

She finally dropped to her knees next to the weakly thrashing Addison just as Joe wiped the knife clean of blood and eased his pinning knee. Addison grunted feebly but said nothing. His eyes fluttered but did not remain open.

She managed a faint utterance that was meant to be “Is he gonna be okay? Did you cut too deep?” and a string of other questions, but all that escaped was, “Cut?”

Joe looked up from the bandages he was now unrolling. “I cut out a good-sized hunk, ‘cause it looked like the infection had spread. I don’t think I took too much, but his left hand is gonna be kinda lame for a while. If he pulls through this,” he added as an afterthought. He dipped the end of a bandage into the simmering water and gently washed the place on Addison’s arm that now looked like a mad butcher had been sampling the flesh. The muscle shone bright red in the firelight, but after a few swipes with the bandage and the hot water, Joe applied a thick glob of the antibiotic ointment and wrapped the remaining bandage tightly over the gaping wound, sealing it with the last bit of masking tape he had.

“Phew, it’s as much as we can do, and a right sorry job it is, but what we gotta worry about now is if he comes down with somethin’ else,” he said, releasing Addison from his pinioned position. Addison quickly pulled his arm back in and sheltered it as best he could against his body, though it looked as though this was rote reaction rather than independent thought. Joe pulled the tiny bottle of pain medicine from his shirt pocket, dropped two of the tiny yellow caplets into his calloused palms, then force-fed them to Addison, pouring the small amount of water left in a waterbag after to force him to swallow or choke. After a moment’s hesitation – long enough for Winn to be sure Joe was murdering him – Addison swallowed.

“Tend him and keep him under the blanket, Winn,” Joe said, his eyes droopy now that the adrenaline of the moment had worn through him. “Keep his face cool and give him another two pills when morning comes, then wake me up. If something happens before morning, wake me up anyway.” Joe fumbled around gathering up his scattered supplies before rolling out his black rain slicker. He covered himself and almost immediately began to snore.

In the sudden stillness, Winn was not sure what to do. She had never tended sick before! Addison still muttered softly in his fever-dreams, but did not wake. She tore off a small segment of her blue toga near the base, soaked it in the rapidly cooling pot of water, then dabbed at Addison’s forehead, then his cheeks, his neck under his chin, and finally squeezed the last bit of water out of the strip of cloth over his forehead. She repeated this procedure, only this time on the back of his head, ending at the nape of his neck. After gently laying his head back down, he looked peaceful if not entirely happy or healthy, and she supposed that was as good a sign as any.

She came to the realization that not only was she acting as lookout before her turn, but that there would be no passing of the turns again until morning. The crescent moon overhead gave little enough light as it was, but she was suddenly struck dumb by the amount of stars in the heavens, and how brightly they shone. Thus far on their journey, Addison and Winn had spent precious little time under a clear sky, and it was with a great pang of desire that she wished sullenly for the first time to be back in a city: where lights were always on, where greasy diners fed drunken college kids at three in the morning, where a fully-stocked hospital could be found with ease.

She dared not dream any further of times lost for fear of losing herself to reverie. What if, while daydreaming of a fat stack of pancakes, those tigers with their red-patterned fur fell upon their campsite and disemboweled them all in the wake of her ignorant dreams?

Seizing upon the imperative to disallow such things from occurring, she got to her feet and hop-walked over to the oak tree on which her table-leg staff still leaned. Right before reaching the tree, she overbalanced and placed all her weight again on her sprained ankle. A brief flash of white-hot pain followed – and the urge to scream out in frustration – but she thought it was already getting better. Perhaps that near-tumble during Addison’s trial fixed more than it fractured. She took the staff and continued to support her right leg while walking, but a sudden inspiration struck her, and she immediately began rummaging in Joe’s duffel bag.

Through the evening she juggled her duties as watchman and wet-nurse with her own wild idea. She wondered idly during this time what Joe and Addison would think when next they saw her, and a small smile swelled across her lips.

That Addison might not live to see her again never crossed her mind.

*****

Joe expressed surprise and amusement at the modification Winn had made to her table-leg staff, which now resembled less a makeshift piece of a table than it did a longstaff, something worthy of weaponry. Gone for the most part were the carved sections that could only be taken for a piece of furniture; in their place instead was a smooth wooden surface with a specific section carved for finger-grips at just the right height for her. In the top she had painstakingly bored through the thick wood on both sides with the knife, no doubt dulling its tip, until she could thread a length of rawhide rope found within Joe’s bag of wonders through it. She could not have said just why the loop of rawhide was necessary, only that it felt necessary. She had also considered the job well done despite having never done any woodcarving or whittling since her arts and crafts days in grade school.

When Joe had awoken at first light, he had caught her unawares as she had discovered her first flaw while swinging the staff, which had turned out to be splinters. As the staff twisted and shifted under her grip, the faux-smooth wood had proven its apparent roughness and uneven shavings by stripping off miniscule splinters of wood into her delicate fingers, to which she had yelped considerably and cursed vigorously. Joe had laughed riotously, unconcerned that Addison might have been disturbed, and frightened Winn terribly with the first real sound in their camp since the event during the night.

“While I admire yer craftsmanship, that thing’ll be incomplete ‘til ya can sand ‘er down, and also tape,” Joe said now over a breakfast of one can of tuna shared between the two of them. While Joe took his turn at the tuna, looking woefully underfed in the process, Winn checked on Addison under his thick blankets, which had finally begun to dry from his sweat-soaked fever. She considered this a good sign, but diligently wiped his face and upper body with a wet rag to keep the fever down.

She straightened up at his critique. “Why tape?” she asked, curiosity piqued.

“For grip, or somethin’,” he answered. “Least, that’s how they always done it in the movies, an’ a lot o’those guys are pretty picky about gettin’ it right.”

“I suppose I’ll need something to stop the splinters, in any case,” she said. She reached down to the bottom of her toga and exacted two strips of the dark blue sheet, exposing her legs halfway up the calves. She accidentally brushed a hand up one leg and realized with a small horror that several days had passed since she had been able to shave her legs, for her fingers and palm received a mighty needling all the way up. Small wonder she had not noticed it until now. But, she thought, some things are never as important when your life is on the line.

She began wrapping the strips of cloth around the staff, wondering vaguely how she was to keep them in place like tape until she noticed that, at least for the time being, it was a needless worry. The section of finger-grip carves held the cloth in place quite well after she had tied it off. With another sense of inexplicable need, she wrapped the second strip of frayed sheet first across her right wrist, then up and across the exposed flesh of both sides of her hand; she finally wrapped it back down around her wrist again and had Joe help her tie it off with the first end. She flexed her hand experimentally, and then her wrist to judge that there was no limitation of flexibility before nodding at the job completed.

Between the two of them, Joe and Winn spoke little. There was too much of a tension in the air that all the waiting around for Addison would lead to nothing but trouble, but what could they do? Joe could no more carry Addison than Winn could carry all the contents of the duffel bag with her as yet lame leg: at least, not for very long. She grudgingly agreed with Joe that they would be best served by just sitting out Addison’s sickness, though she refused to idly wait.

Not long after the last bit of tuna had gone from the can, she stretched her legs with the excuse that they needed the waterbags filled. She had, in reality, a pressing need to make water and – possibly – to excise her breadbasket. This last made her smile, as it had always been her mother’s opinion that women never passed bowels, made number two – laid out a healthy **** – or any such vulgar slang. She felt such a momentous pang of grief for her mother, who was certainly dead now, that it was a surprise when it passed as quickly as a sneeze, and with as much gratitude on her part. She certainly loved her mother, probably even more than her father, whom she had grieved most deeply. She thought it might have been a hardening of her heart that abused her ability to grieve.

Winn made her solitary way through the thickening oaks, intent only on the ever urgent tingling just above her privates. Going off alone was obviously a bad idea, but propriety had taken hold as soon as she had regained clothing, and the awkwardness that would have been rampant with Joe sitting around pretending not to listen was unbearable.

After a highly uncomfortable but satisfying squat well away from their camp, she continued to follow the sounds of the stream Addison had mentioned the night before, wondering just how far out Addison had gone in his fevered state. Perhaps half a mile more of walking led her straight into the stream, a wonderfully clear blue broken only by the occasional frothy white of the shallow water over rocks. At first she had considered this a possible coincidence along their path, another helping hand like the hot spring or the cabin, but a moment’s consideration decided her that this was a natural stream, not wholly intended just for them, but for whoever or whatever might come across it. Large divots of washed out bank on either side said this stream could be much wider and fuller during a rainy season, but might not flow at all but for trickles in the dead of summer. The heavy rainstorm two days prior seemed to still be leaving its mark, for this stream flowed in a more or less westward fashion, but had swelled from the rains that might still be pouring to their east.

She dropped the waterbags and her staff, delighted to see a body of water big enough to take a full dip, no matter how icy it proved. She snuck suspicious glances to both sides of the stream, and up each bank into the darkening forest around, ever conscientious of a peeping tom, though the idea that someone besides Addison or Joe could be out here in the wilderness forced a laugh. Then it threatened to flood her eyes with tears. Then it sent chills tap-dancing down her spine. She swept them all aside as they came in the same sweeping motion that disrobed her. She gained great pleasure in stripping the oversized wife-beater and the boxer briefs, as though it were another sign of civility that she had undergarments to remove, but also because it felt absolutely blissful to be removing the once-sodden and unwashed attire. If only Joe had had a bar of soap!

She promptly forgot her inhibitions and carefully plodded into the stream, still slightly favoring her right ankle with little hops, or almost-steps. The chill her feet had felt ever since leaving the cabin was nothing compared with how cold this water was, and she suddenly felt it would be especially imprudent to go splashing about, or to even find a place deep enough to fully submerge. In the time it would take her to redress and get back to camp, hypothermia – that old bastard – would find her. She settled on filling the waterbags and pouring them each in turn over her body, viciously scrubbing at the days-old dirt and grime and body oils with the small strip of cloth tied around her right hand. Every time that water touched a previously dry patch of body, it brought a sharp gasp of shock and fresh goose bumps rippling across her delicate skin. Her nipples had already become hard nubs in the cold of the day, but when the icy water flowed over her breasts, they straightened out and became so hard she thought they might snap off if she touched them again.

Having scrubbed vigorously at her mud-caked feet, revealing for the first time in many hours her naked soles and toes, she scrambled up and out of the water. At first she only donned her undergarments and took enough time to fill the waterbags again, then she relished the little warmth that came with the toga. Picking up the staff once more, she slung the waterbags over her shoulder and started for camp.

She became aware almost immediately of a presence behind her, like a sick dread between her shoulders, settling deep into her heart. She spun on the spot, nearly losing balance in her haste, but managed to remain upright only because there was nothing there. Her heart hammering away in her chest told her different, though, and she quickly scanned the area for suspicious activity. The early morning stream floated along at a leisurely pace, bubbling with the sounds of shallow water. A bird chirped; another answered. Wind blew through the trees, singing a low whistling tune. Nothing moved but the leaves blown on the wind and the lapping stream. By all accounts it was still as peaceful here as it had been before her arrival.

Then a small bush abruptly rustled on the opposite bank, five feet up on a steep ledge where the roots of trees held the dirt in place. The pine bush rustled again, violently; Winn was on the point of running away as fast as her injured form would take her when the bush stopped rustling and out of its side popped two squirrels. Both of a dark black color she had never seen before, but that would blend in well with the dirt in these forests, one squirrel chased another up a tree and disappeared from sight, either unaware of her or uncaring.

She laughed in spite of herself. Just a couple of squirrels. Something about squirrels tempted her mind, but she could not place her finger on it. She turned to go, smiling to herself, feeling cleaner than she had in days, if not totally clean. She headed back the way she had come, noticing this time signs of wildlife that she had not previously encountered, and it was this that struck her memory. Since leaving the tunnel and meeting Addison, they had seen no living creatures save the tiger-things and the occasional bird. She thought she had an idea what all this meant, but she would reason it out when Addison was active and coherent again.

She reached the camp but said nothing to Joe of the squirrels, except that there was something she wanted to discuss when Addison finally came around. She rejoined him under the blanket while Joe kept up a watch. Her main reason for doing this was to warm up, but she fell asleep thinking about the squirrels. She dreamed, not of Before as had been customary since this adventure had begun, but of the tiger-things masquerading as little black squirrels, changing back and forth every time she turned away. And each time she looked back the squirrels were closer until she finally turned and the tiger-things were there, licking her ankles, sampling the salty sweat of her skin, preparing to latch on with razor-teeth. Oddly, she felt no fear of these apparitions and awoke with a strange complacence, content to rest next to Addison for the rest of the day, though she knew that would not happen.

For the first time since going to sleep the night before, Addison awoke in a haze of semi-consciousness shortly before noon – by the sun’s reckoning, at least. He looked from Winn to Joe, then back to Winn, before uttering, “Who are the O’Tweezers?” and promptly fell asleep again. Joe only frowned in confusion, but Winn burst with laughter. Something about that crazily Irish name being the only thing to make its way into Addison’s mind during his fever in the night seemed to imbue the day with a sense of rightness, that all would be well despite their desperately dark circumstances.

It was another interminably long amount of time before Addison came to again, this time remaining awake. His color had returned almost to normal, and his temperature had dropped considerably. Joe unraveled the bandage around his elbow and checked for further signs of infection, of which he found none. He cleaned the wound again, applied more of the antibiotic ointment, and redressed it with the very last of the bandages. Joe forced the entire can of beef ravioli on Addison, made him wash it down with two more pills and a good half of one of the waterbags before he would allow talking.

Finally, after Addison was sufficiently fed and medicated, Joe told him what had happened, admonishing him only a little for his foolishness. He finished with the air of a father scolding his son for spilling paint in the garage or playing in a recently raked pile of leaves, the good humor of a father only putting his son through the paces of childhood, not especially mad. Addison laughed weakly; his face contorted in a twinge when he flexed his left arm and realized he was missing a small portion of necessary muscle to properly move his fingers. Winn, having never paid attention in a biology or anatomy lesson in all her life, found it fascinating that there were muscles in the lower arm that affected finger movement, and so would be found later that evening delightedly watching the muscles of her arm twitch and convulse while she played an imaginary piano.

Once Addison and Joe had exhausted their father-son moment, she brought up the matter of the squirrels. Once they had heard her out, Addison seemed to fold in on himself in thought.

“What is it, Addison?” Winn asked.

“Well, it’s just that, you say we had only ever seen the tigers and the occasional bird,” he worked it out slowly as he spoke, “but did you really?”

“… What do you mean?”

“We all saw the tigers, or at least one each, but did we actually see any birds, or only hear them?”

“But that’s crazy,” Joe said, obviously stretching his mind around this.

“No… he’s right,” Winn reasoned. She was running through the three days and realized with a sort of abject horror that what they had heard had easily become what they had seen. “We never did see a bird, but took it for granted that because we heard them, they were there.”

“Or better yet, that they were real,” Addison said, working it out in his mind. “Joe, this is important. Have you seen any birds at all?”

Joe’s pupils and irises disappeared as his eyes rolled up in concentration, as though he could find the answer scrawled on the inside of his eyelids. He seemed to be having a debate with his mind as he worked out for himself whether he had seen any birds. He muttered hotly under his breath as his eyes flashed back and forth; he finally sighed and favored them with a shake of his head. “By God, yer right. No birds have been flying around.”

“So… what does this mean?” Winn asked. She looked from Joe to Addison to the trees, wondering if she had even see a bird while walking about on her own. “There was nothing alive in the place we started?”

“If that’s true, who kept the animals out? How were they kept out? Why?” Addison said, starting a series of questions that seemed unanswerable, but he stopped himself immediately.

“It doesn’t really matter who or how at this point, but I might know the why,” he said, excitement rising in his voice as he spoke. “What would animals do if they had been allowed into that area?”

“Animals would do what animals do best,” Winn answered automatically, “which is survive.”

“Exactly, and what would happen if small critters found their way in, say… squirrels and birds?”

“Bigger animals would come in after them,” Joe offered, and Winn agreed.

“Yeah, foxes, wolves, coyotes, owls, eagles, hawks, and then what?”

“Even bigger animals?” Joe guessed.

“Perhaps, but most people would come out of their tunnel in as bad a situation as Winn and me. Naked, or almost, no weapons, no protection, no food, no water. If there had been natural predators right off the bat, we’d be coyote meat.”

“So now that the fauna is naturally inhabiting the land around us,” Winn began, “that means we’re less at the mercy of the beings that brought us here. Whatever control they had been able to wield does not stretch over all the earth, or even over most of it.”

“Right, and if their power and authority is finite, that means we might not necessarily have to abide by the instructions we’ve been given. We could, conceivably, just find somewhere that has food and water and shelter and live out our days.”

“But if we did that, we’d be risking the chance that whatever these beings wanted us to do was absolutely necessary to our survival, or to human survival, or even the planet’s,” Winn said, somehow knowing this was exactly what they, whoever they were, wanted she and her companions to think. “Dare we take that risk, knowing as we do that we really still know nothing?”

“You’re absolutely right, Winn,” Addison agreed, “in that we have no choice but to continue along this path until we know more.”

She had not said this, had in fact been meaning to say it next, but Addison had beaten her to the conclusion, which either said he was affecting her, or she was affecting him. Either way, she shared his opinion, and by the look in Joe’s awestruck eyes, he did, too, if not exactly why.

“Really, all you two are sayin’ is that it’s gonna be harder from here on out,” Joe said.

“Harder?” Winn asked, truly not knowing what he meant.

“Yeah, if we’re not being guided so strictly, then survival falls more to us than to expectin’ help along the way, as you’ve come to anticipate. We gotta hunt for ourselves now. An’ I don’t know about you, but some vegetables would be mighty welcome here. If we’re as far into autumn as it looks, we’re in trouble.” He settled back, unsure how to continue.

“How long could we survive on just meat, and at the best the occasional wild fruit or vegetable, if we’re lucky?” Addison asked, calculating.

“Oh, we’d go a long ways on just meat. Several months or more, but we’d have so many ails that even getting up and walking’ll seem like too much. All the vit’mins and minerals and nutrients we lack will break us down eventually. Cold sores, general breaking out of the skin, injuries take longer to heal, bloody noses, lack of energy, and eventually we’d just lay down one night and never get up again.”

“How do you know all this?” Winn asked, troubled. She would never admit that the idea of her skin breaking out was the biggest concern for her, at least until death.

“Oh, I imagine being brought up in the northwest, all prim and proper, has taught ya a lot of things that ya won’t learn in the Redneck South. Same goes for me: how to live in the wilderness is secondary to learning how to shoot a rifle, and they’re both things I came into ‘fore I was even old enough to be int’rested in girls.” He shifted uneasily, still not apt to be the center of attention for too long. “Point is, I know, and that’s more’n anything else why I’m here. To keep ya alive.”

“I don’t think-“ Addison began, but Joe cut him off.

“That’s the only reason I’m here?” Addison nodded. “Nor do I, but it is the greater reason. Otherwise I wouldn’ta got my own riddle. Otherwise mine might have been Addison’s, only enough to get me outta the tunnel.”

“I think he has the right of it,” Winn said. She felt the truth of it, despite wanting to feel a bit more useful to her own survival. If Joe’s real purpose was to keep them alive, was he expendable? Could that have been part of her own riddle-prophecy? She brushed these thoughts aside, wishing neither to court them nor to give them any sort of truth.

Addison finally nodded his acquiescence. “So… what’s the plan for the rest of the day?”

“Joe wants to bed down again right here,” Winn said. Addison looked ready to argue the point, but she agreed with Joe and said so. “And there’s no reason for us to go traipsing about alone, either.” She suddenly realized how foolish it had been to wander off by her lonesome. “No one goes by themselves out of earshot from here on in. Agreed?” Joe and Addison both nodded. She wondered where the authority in her voice had come from, but attributed it to motherly attentions.

Addison rubbed his eyes, clearly still exhausted from his nearly fatal fever. “And you should probably lay back and get some more rest,” she said, while Joe tossed her the bottle of aspirins and she shook out two more pills. She peered into the tiny hole in the top, making a mental note that the bottle now contained fewer than twenty pills. They would have to ration them out from this point on, lest they run through the lot. Addison swallowed his two with a gulp of water, then went back to sleep almost immediately, with but a shade of a smile in Winn’s direction.

*****

UPDATED 08-25-2007

They were on the move again, slower than before. After a second night in the same camp, Addison had refused to wait any longer, choosing instead slow mobility over more waiting. Back on the road again, they had taken several breaks on his behalf, so many so that he was quite sure they had made fewer than four or five miles in as many hours, a pitiful rate by any standard. Despite the growing chill, the vegetation seemed to be growing lusher as they progressed, a further sign that they were moving out of the sterility and safety of a planned environment. This only lightened Addison’s mood, as though nature were preferable to that cold unfruitfulness.

The sun blazed today, kicking the temperature up to an almost comfortable degree, and the wind blew at a stolid rate, like a broken bellow spewing feeble gouts of air. The bushes and trees to each side of the road grew wilder and small animals were to be seen at length. Addison thought that the squirrels, chipmunks, beavers (Winn had sworn she saw a platypus at one point), and medley of birds they had begun to see today were even more skittish than would be usual. Perhaps they had been so long in a world without predators or encroachers to their environment that it came as shock and terror when Addison, Winn, and Joe came strolling down the path.

The dirt path they had been traveling came to an abrupt end about mid-day, and with its end another surprise. Two small carcasses were laid out at the end of the road, fresh kills by the look. The first was a rather meaty raccoon, his bandit’s eyes and ringed tail looking forlorn after death, while the other piece of death was a large black squirrel, almost so large as to be a small dog. Each had been killed swiftly and with as little blood or tearing as possible. They in fact looked a little like road-kill, though Addison well knew what had killed them.

“What do ya make o’this?” Joe asked, leaning over the raccoon for a closer look, while Addison knelt in front of the squirrel. Winn was noticeably keeping her distance from the reminder of death.

“Definitely done by our tigers,” Addison remarked. In times like this, he let his mind take over and work the details out with little interference from his intuitive side. “Their placement and lack of… evisceration, I guess, is too convenient for this to be a random predator. Is this a warning?” He looked to Joe, who only looked gravely back, and then to Winn, who seemed on the point of saying something, but she only shook her head noncommittally in response.

“If we take this as a warning, as we surely have to, we have nothing else to do here. I don’t even want to touch these things,” he said, poking at the squirrel with a stick, suddenly feeling very like a small boy who has just discovered his first dead animal. He dropped the stick immediately and turned to Joe. “But now we’ve got another problem.”

“Yeah, the road just up and ended on us. Where the bleedin’ hell do we go from here?” Joe said, frustrated.

“Maybe we should look for a sign,” Winn said, now further away from the carcasses, towards the thick, nearly impenetrable growth of brambles and trees that signaled the end of their path.

“What, like another small tidbit that will lead us in the right direction, like the hot spring, the road, the cabin? Do you see anything like that around?” Addison asked, annoyed mostly out of his own frustration.

“No,” Winn answered, ignoring his facetiousness, “a road sign.” She pointed at the wall of vegetation, then poked hard with her staff into it. A surprisingly metallic rap replied from the dead and dying foliage. Joe was off his haunches and moving toward Winn with a disturbing quickness, and together they began tearing at the vines and brambles. Addison made his unhurried way over, not knowing what to expect from this sudden development. By the time he closed in, the better part of the metal object had been uncovered.

Though it was obviously centuries out of its era, Addison recognized it for what it used to be: one of those highway signs that indicated the direction and distance for nearby small towns and a vague direction and distance to travel to a larger city. Many points had once been outlined on this particular sign, but age and weather had since stripped it of its natural green, and it was now the burnished grey-white of negligence, where it had not already rusted away. By the look of it, Addison surmised there had once been five locations marked on this sign, and that instead of being just a dead-end path, there used to be a main road it connected to, though by glancing left and right, all signs of that road had long disintegrated.

“Well, that’s definitely a sign,” Addison remarked, not a little bit mystified. “Either of you make out any of the destinations? We might get a bit of bearing on our location, in a world-view perspective, that is.”

“I think… this one might say ‘Apr…’ and the rest is lost, but the arrow indicates south. No telling how far it is, though. That’s definitely gone,” Winn said, referring to the third line, but the first that was not completely scoured away. The letters next to “Apr” could have been “c” or “o” or even “d” and the last one was definitely lost, if not more than one letter was missing. Given “Apr” and a choice between those three letters, he thought “o” most likely, but the only word (not even a town) that came to mind was “Apron.” He definitely did not think that was the name of any town he had ever heard of.

“What about the one after that?” Joe asked, peering curiously at the almost completely faded fourth line, of which only “…it…gh” was visible, along with a north arrow and a possible “53” or “58,” but if that was in miles or kilometers, it did not really matter.

Addison began to decipher the last line, but it, like the first two lines, was barely there anymore. A vague impression of a lowercase “l” by its placement on the sign, followed by a few blank spots, and just the merest hint of a “v” or “y.” The last letter that was visible could again have been any number of letters with a small circle in it, “a” or “b” or “c” or “d” or so on all the way through the alphabet. Addison felt drawn to this line, though, perhaps because it had the clearest indication of direction and distance, which were north and thirty-two.

“So where does that leave us?” he asked, after Winn had written it all down in her yellow pad. Joe indicated a good spot to camp for the day, or at least for a while, as the day was still young. This area had definitely been part of a road once upon a time, though Addison really had to look before he could see it. The trees were sparse here, not barren, but less thick than even ten yards to either side; the growth of trees within the sparse realm suggested a desperate struggle, as though there was perhaps a layer of asphalt or concrete or whatever the roads had been made out of that the youngling oaks and pines first had to conquer and split. He wondered if a bit of digging would reveal the long-buried road beneath. The sun now hung heavy in the sky, staring in annoying shafts of light through the barren limbs of the west trees. Birds now occasionally flitted back and forth over their heads, and small animals, mostly squirrels or chipmunks, could be seen and heard chattering noisily in the branches. The wind had not picked up, but the westering sun failed to give off its warming touch as it descended its slow march to the horizon.

Winn took to staring at the letters from the sign while Joe did a bit of scouting around, never leaving eyesight, shotgun cocked and ready. It took a moment for Addison to remember the dead animals laid out in dire consequence before the sign. Somewhere, those tiger-things watched and waited. Also, someone or something had taken one of the tigers out, and there could be no telling at this point whether to regard this unknown entity as friend or foe. It was another minute of backtracking before he recalled another tidbit, that of the Butterfinger wrapper. Had that belonged to whoever killed the tiger? It had to be recent, but where had it come from? Were Butterfingers still in production, or could it have come from someone else taken from Before?

Winn dropped the pad of paper onto Joe’s duffel bag as Joe entered the camp, apparently resolved that this site would serve their purposes. She began chewing on the end of the pen, absently clicking the ink tube in and out with her tongue. Addison blushed, then asked her for the notepad. She tossed it over idly and continued to chew and tongue the pen. Had she always resembled a dainty, daydreaming college student? He tried to ignore her as he began riffling through the pages.

Something about the first partially legible line was bothering him. He found the page with all the possible letter notations and quickly let his mind go to work. Maybe the “Apro” was actually “Apho” or “Apno” or “Apha,” but none of these were helping. He concentrated on the next line, with “…it…gh.” If “gh” was the last part of the town, then it was likely to be an “orough” or an “urgh.” This seemed to suggest either British, Irish, or American landmasses, but he still felt no closer to gleaning the actual town. The last line had so few indicators that it literally could have been anything, from Gettysburg to Cleveland…

If he had bothered to ask Winn or Joe at that moment, they would have said he went from mad concentration to dumbstruck awe in a split second, as though by some hypnosis a sound had forced him to stop thinking so hard. He had, in fact, come upon a realization so blindingly obvious that it felt like a switch had been clicked in his brain, and suddenly all the tumblers were falling into place.

Cleveland. When the name of his own home in the Before had alighted on his brain, the first tumbler fell into place. Grasping at an impossibility, he scoured his memories for a sight so common that it dared to be of little importance. A sign, like the one they had only recently discovered, bearing the names of towns between his home as a boy and his home as college student and – eventually – of his adult life: Cleveland.

A vivid memory, so painful it hurt, of driving through forested and winding “foot of the Appalachian” highways to reach Interstate 77, what would lead almost all the way into Cleveland. This particular trip had been memorable, as it was his first time driving up to his college campus on his own, a three-hour trip as an eighteen-years-young man, listening to the brand new in-dash CD player he had been given as a graduation present, when most of his friends were still carting around tape decks. His music of choice had then been the gritty and punky sounds of Green Day, or the old school punk of the late ‘70s and ‘80s, The Ramones, or Rancid, or any number of fast-paced, high energy bands that a kid could get lost in and freak out at concerts over. He had been singing along with Green Day’s intrepid “Words I Might Have Ate” when a particularly violent roadside accident caught his attention. An early model Dodge Durango, when they had been among the ugliest vehicles to grace the roads, had collided with a large stag. Blood and furry guts streaked from one side of the road to the other. The deer still attached to the windshield of the Durango, flailing limply in its final death throes. An ambulance checking out the teenaged driver and his perky-looking girlfriend, who both looked shaken and sickly in the white light of the day. Cops trying to decide how the hell to get the deer out of the windshield. All of this flashed by at fifty miles per hour, and right beyond that, the road sign (he considered vaguely that it was the correlation of dead animals before road signs that brought this revelation to mind at all):

Akron 30
Cleveland 65
Pittsburgh 82

Akron. Cleveland. Pittsburgh. He would see these road signs for years as he traveled back and forth. “Apro” had been misinterpreted. The “p” was not a “p” at all, but a “k.” Akron. “…it…gh” was Pittsburgh. And the last… it had to be. It could not be anything else.

“I know where we are,” Addison said quietly. He felt sure they would not believe him, but after a quick retelling, Winn only nodded, and Joe smiled. On second thought, Winn did not need much encouragement to believe, and Joe likely was glad only because they finally had a more central location. “Not exactly where, mind you, but this is fairly accurate. You see, Akron is somewhere to the south of us. Probably not more than ten miles. Cleveland is a good hoof north from here, and Pittsburgh is easy to get to once you reach I-80, but it branches off East. Obviously.” He finished lamely, knowing but not admitting what came next.

“So we go to Cleveland,” Winn answered for him. Addison felt the need to remind her that just because he was from Cleveland did not mean that was their next destination, but she interrupted him before he could get more than “but.” “Cleveland was marked out most clearly on the sign, at least for distance and direction, so we’d have decided to go that way anyways, but you just set it in stone for us. As I’m sure the beings behind this knew you would.”

“But Akron is so much closer!” he petitioned. “We could even get there by the end of the day if we leave now.”

“And then what?” Winn said, only slightly scolding. “Are you expecting to find people? A thriving metropolis? Flying cars and jetpacks?”

“No, but-“

“Akron is probably gone,” Winn continued. “Cleveland, Salem, Oklahoma City, more than likely ALL civilization has been extinguished. I don’t think that the beings who put us together here would have done so if there were any people left to fix it themselves.”

“So then why Cleveland?” Addison asked, defeated. “What do we find when we get there, another sign about where to go next? Are we going to just walk forever?” The despair he now felt contended heavily with the desolation he had fallen into momentarily on the first day of this GRAND ADVENTURE. He suddenly knew he was on the verge of tears, but could only laugh at the thought of crying about – essentially – going home.

“Or,” Joe answered, “mayhap Cleveland is gone, and whatever’s there now is part of why we’re here?”

“Then WHY Cleveland? What makes it so special? Aside from the fact that it was my home Before, what makes it any different NOW from any other place? Why weren’t we tossed into Oregon or Oklahoma?” Addison shot back, revolting against everything now, not just Cleveland.

“We could sit here and debate for months about all the possibles, but what we ALL know, whether you’ll admit it or not, is that we’re going to Cleveland. The longer we stay in one place, the better our chances of being caught with no food and no shelter. Then it won’t matter where we’re going,” Winn finished, intoning death.

The isolation and misery coursing through Addison lessened at her words. He met eyes with her, and stared for what could have been hours into that emerald depth, finding all the resolve and bravery necessary to stay the road. He reached out and enveloped her hand in his, squeezing it for the warmth as much as for the comfort. “Let’s go to Cleveland,” he said, and she nodded. Her hair bobbed slightly, all of it a tangled mess, and he smoothed a wild strand as best he could.

Joe laughed. It broke the solemn moment, though he seemed not to notice. “Let’s get a move on, then,” he said. “We can squeeze a few more miles out of the sun before we lose this hard path entirely.”

And so they walked on, again taking up the game of guessing at the actress Winn had played personal assistant for. Addison deeply wanted to know the answer, though just why he could not say.

_____

[Shard]

Re: Short story.

My impression went something like this...read it, thought about it, reread it, and I still can't come up with strong feelings one way or another. It's not bad, but it doesn't set a hook that compels me to read more. It might be due to its brevity. If I had to guess it sounds like the over-arching premise is contemporary man meets the future, or some sort of advanced civilization, but that's so broad there's no way to tell whether you're the next Philip K. Dick or if it'll be Star Trek fan-fiction.

[Big Rick Cook]

Re: Short story.

Probably the first moreso than the second. That's basically the feeling I get when I read this over. I'm going to have to expand more on this world before setting in concrete all the details. I have some basic ideas as to how to move forward, but I have problems with writing on the fly, which is how I write most everything.

[d2king10]

Re: Short story.

Read it today before school, and I have to say that you have a unique writting style. Though sometimes it is hard to pull the words together to form a visual image as to how the man is really feeling, though as you read on it becomes clear. I dont really have much to critique on, other then a personal annoyance of mine that most writters use; at the beginning you used several short sentences, about 3 to 4 words each, and all ending in a period. Now, for some reason to me, when i read it, it appears to be very chopped when authors do this, although grammicaly correct.

What I'm refering to is these few sentences:

These simple creatures evolved. They became something more.

There are afew more scattered about, but they arent as noticable when placed about like they were. But again, this is a personal annoyance of mine, so I dont really see it being a problem to others, unless you love me enough to change it kidding.

Well keep it up, id love to see how this evolves, because i feel its going at a steady pace. Hell, i even shivered when his nail was ripped off his finger haha.

[Maijo]

Re: Short story.

I find that the best way to tell if a sentence is choppy or not is to read it many times over in the paragraph and see how the rhythm is. If it sounds rhythmically correct with short pauses after each sentence, then leave it. If you want it to flow smoother, instead of a period just use a semi-colon.

i.e.
These simple creatures evolved; they became something more.

The two sentences sound basically the same with and without the semi-colon, but because of the lengths of the other sentences as compared to these two, I would just out a semi-colon instead.

[Big Rick Cook]

Re: Short story.

Those sentences are intentionally short so as to emphasize them. They are also not placed together in one sentence because they must be individual thoughts. I wanted them placed together to show that they are related, and to read the two sentences, they obviously are very related, as they nearly say the same thing. Evolution is a broad concept, and it is one I intend to cover in this story. The reason I chose not to meld the two short sentences into one longer sentence, such as "These simple creatures evolved; they became something more." or "These simple creatures evolved, and became something more." or "These simple creatures evolved, becoming something more." is that I wanted them separate ideas despite how closely linked they are. Evolution is one thing. Becoming something more is vague and it entails evolution, but they are not one and the same.

Of things that this beginning would sire discussion about, I never thought it would be those two short sentences.

[Maijo]

Re: Short story.

I understand what you're saying. I just prefer the look of the sentence if it is spaced by semi-colons because either way, when read it sounds the same.

[d2king10]

Re: Short story.

Well they sound the same, but it just doesnt feel the same when reading it and it having short sentence structures.

[Sejon]

Re: Short story.

I enjoyed it. Very good descriptions.

I'm not delving into that two sentence debate, as I found nothing wrong with it. :b
But if I do have any sort of crit, it's that I wish I knew about the capital letters in those words before the protagonist did. I know that the first time “Recite and enjoy, for the path is always open. I trust you understand.” is mentioned, it's being read out, so it wouldn't include the capital letters since it's being relayed audibly rather than visually. Still, the fact that it's without capitals the first time, and with them the second time all of a sudden, can make it a tad confusing at first glance.
But, on the other hand, I fear that if you included the capitals the first time, it would be made immediately apparent to most readers, which is probably not what you want to do. So I guess there may be no way around that. But it doesn't really matter; it's something very minor that maybe no one else would agree with.

With that said, good job. I'd like to see where this leads.

[Big Rick Cook]

Re: Short story.

The idea behind the first time you see the message is that the man is so excited that he's found the puzzle that he completely ignored the capitalization and translated it to what would be its perfect syntax. After he grows frustrated and a tear slips onto the capital P in "Path," he suddenly realizes there's more to the message. The story is told from his perspective, so we don't get an omnipresent view into everything. We see things as he sees them, and he sees the message wrong at first because in his haste he ignored the details.

Thinking on that, and rereading that portion of the scene, I suppose I could rewrite it to make that more clear in the narrative.

And here's the next portion of the story!

_____

Down the stairwell the man clambered, so happy to be away from the circle of trees that he nearly tripped and fell the last few steps. Righting himself and peering around, he noticed at once that he had but one option, one path. The tunnel in which he stood did not look as he had expected (mysterious pipes and keypads and hidden panels and repetitive steam relieving pressure from some ancient relic of a science fiction movie gone wrong); rather, it looked as if it had never been touched by any detritus of use or abuse. The man had no tools for measuring, but his eyesight said the pathway was perfectly straight and circular for farther than his vision would allow. That cold, blue, seamless metal went on for what could have been forever, perfectly straight and featureless save for yellow-glowing half-orbs attached to the eight-foot high ceiling every few yards. In the confines of the closed tunnel, he was now aware of his own body odor, but this smell became second nature within minutes.

Determining not to lose heart or hope in this metallic wormhole, he removed the slightly bloody sock from his finger; seeing that he no longer bled, he replaced the sock on his foot and began his journey. His first few steps caused his blood to stir and his pulse jumped, for the first light he passed under instantly flicked off with a small whirr. He stopped, but instincts took over; he feared the lights would continue to go out and he would be forever trapped in this lightless space, so he took off. Slipping momentarily with his unsteady socks, he nearly ripped them off until sweat gave them grip and he moved steadily down the tunnel, the orbs losing light just as he passed them. He chanced a glance behind him, wondering if he could see the stairway leading into the cursed circle of oak – perhaps an escape back into daylight if he panicked too much – but the sunlight had ceased and he saw nothing but darkness behind.

He slipped.

Another light dimmed as he toppled to the lower half of the circle and slid several inches before the sweat covering his body slipped away and his skin screamed as it came to a mind-piercing halt with the sound a tennis shoe makes on a basketball court. He hurried to get up, to keep moving, but realized the lights had ceased their taunting race. A thought occurred; a test to be administered. He stood up hastily, swallowed his fear, and took several steps forward, approaching the next light. It went out immediately as he stepped under it.

The man laughed out loud, but trembled at his own echoes. “If this is supposed to be my bread-crumb trail, you’ve got it backward,” he mused to the darkness. “And I’m supposed to have a Gretel.” Thinking upon a name, he suddenly realized that he hadn’t thought about anything but getting out of or away from perceived dangers since his awakening.

“My name. I’m Addison.” Addison thought it particularly strange that none of his thoughts were gone. The general lay of stories was that the main character had a bad case of amnesia, but he remembered everything, except for how he came to be in that Circle. But it was not time to reflect.

Addison walked on, after a time forgetting that the lights were even going out. He walked and walked for what seemed hours – and probably was – until his throat screamed for liquid and his muscles burned. He tried not to think of the aches in his stomach; the growling never stopped, as if a lion stalked him every passing minute. He finally became tired and forced himself to lie down, cringing in shock as his bare back touched the cool metal. Pondering his circumstances, he at once wondered how long he could keep on without water or food; Boy Scouts aside, he was no survivalist – given to panicking and wasting of energy – and to continue on in this way might yield an exit, but mile after mile, he had begun to doubt that he would reach the end.

Addison stood up again, feeling temporary relief from what may have been an all day excursion, and followed the half-globes of yellowish light further into the never-winding tunnel. Not even ten minutes after his rest, he came upon the first difference in the tunnel since its opening: an intersection, two identical blue funnels leading into his own in chicken-foot fashion. He nearly missed both openings as they were no longer lit; the light-globes had gone out, or were never on. Where his own tunnel – and indeed, perhaps not even just his tunnel anymore – continued on, there was still only one string of half-globes lit on the ceiling, but to either side of the glowing orbs another doused light lingered. He took a cautious step forward, wondering what the lights would do now that there was more than one; the single light went out, as usual, but nothing happened to the others.

Two others had already taken this path, and had made it at least this far.

He detected a faint scent in the sterilized air: perfume, of some sort. Wildflowers, maybe. Excitement overtook him. Someone’s been through here, and not long ago! He took off at a wild sprint, hoping to catch up to the sweet-smelling woman in a matter of minutes. Presently the perfume became stronger, and he chanced a yell that he hoped would stop her. “Hello! Is there someone ahead of me?”

He waited tensely, but still moving. For several frightening moments no sound but his echo answered him; he then caught a faint but feminine reply, “Keep moving!” It sounded urgent. “The door is closing!”

Door.

An exit. His lungs burned as he pushed himself harder; the gooey saliva in his mouth and throat dried and he wondered if he would vomit. He kept on for another several minutes, each moment passing in a frantic blur. Aches became distant. He thought his vision began to blur, mistaking daylight for that foggy lightheadedness he’d read about in murder mysteries and suspense novels.

Moments passed. Addison was vaguely aware of a voice urging him on, the light diminishing; he thought he was fainting. He was suddenly toppling over something hard and landing bareback on soft ground.

He had made it. Above his head he could see the circular doorway – what he had run into – close in on itself the rest of the way. He laughed and realized that he was crying, too. He tried to sit up, but dizziness set in and his body shut itself down. Blackness set in. That dreaded darkness.

He awoke feeling groggy. The dim view of the sun he had seen before passing out told him he’d only been out a few minutes. Reminders popped up all over his body that he was dehydrated and famished: headache, blurry vision, aching lungs, growling stomach. In his weakness he forced himself to a sit and leaned against the circular doorway.

A woman, bare as the day she came into the world, sat staring at him from a good fifteen yards away. Her arms were wrapped around her legs, pulled tight to her chest, obscuring all private areas from vision. Addison turned red in embarrassment.

She looked him over and said, “Good. You made it. Now find me some clothes.”

*****

[Big Rick Cook]

Re: Short story.

So would anybody be interested in reading the continuing adventure? The last month has been a hectic and strange one for me, as I've been moving my possessions a bit at a time, and am only now getting settled, but I have been writing for this story a little here, a little there. What I have posted is less than half of what I have written at this point, and if anybody's interested, I'll keep on posting as I get it written. Otherwise, I'll let this topic fall into obscurity and continue writing without worrying about the Pavilion's opinion.

So any takers?

[d2king10]

Re: Short story (Updated 01-11-2006)

Edit: Read it and loved it. You have the sense of mystery hit right on its head. Keep up the great work, and i cant wait to see what will happen.

[Big Rick Cook]

Re: Short story (Updated 01-11-2006)

Okay then, I'll post the next section tomorrow morning.

[d2king10]

Re: Short story (Updated 01-11-2006)

Alright, i probly wont be able to get to it till later the evening(school).

[Big Rick Cook]

Re: Short story (Updated 01-11-2006)

Mind you, these are unedited. They are my version of a rough draft so there MIGHT be the occasional grammatical error or sentence that is structured strangely. Feel free to point any out if you see them. This is the addition to the story for 02-14-2006.

EDIT: Oh, and if anything catches your eye that you don't quite get - two things in this addition come to mind - I wouldn't worry about them. Ambiguities will begin being explained and uncovered soon.

_____

He ignored her command at first and jumped to his feet, exhilarated to see another person. Despite the cool air, he felt his face warm when he had stolen several glances in the woman’s direction – enough to see what she looked like. She was perhaps in her late twenties, which gave him heart as he was himself only thirty years of age. Shoulder-length dusty brown hair – what he thought would have been straight if she’d had the toiletries – lay mussed about her head. She woke up to the same circumstance as me,he thought, and then smirked. And she sleeps in her birthday suit. Ruddy skin, flushed at being seen so vulnerable, paled against the overwhelming green of her eyes; her meticulously thin eyebrows showed her vain nature. Addison considered the stubborn façade she splayed across her scrunched nose and pouty lips, but couldn’t decide whether she was between handsome and pretty or pretty and beautiful. Standing straight, she might be nearly as tall as he was, and showed every inch in her drawn legs. He refused to look too closely for more than just fear of inciting some wrath that she would undoubtedly have at being so judged. His hands immediately covered his boxer briefs; he’d forgotten his own predicament on clothing.

Addison surveyed his other surroundings quickly. Behind him stood a wall of rock with the metallic blue circle sticking out obtrusively in the center; below, patchy yellow grass jutted out of the dark soil; to each side an endless expanse of leafless forest obscured all sight beyond a hundred feet or so; beyond the woman more trees dampened his vision, but he could hear forest sounds, and chief among them was the glorious movement of water. A stream lay somewhere near, and he needed water badly.

Hoping to subvert any humiliation or aggravation, he tried to start a conversation with the woman, wishing and willing her to go to the stream with him. “Um, hi there,” he said nervously. “My name’s Addison. What’s yours?”

She turned a contemptuous cheek and huffed. “This is a poor attempt at irony,” she answered. “Call me Winn.”

Puzzled at her statement about irony, he inched closer and continued, “I am glad to meet you, Winn. I don’t suppose you’ve a better idea than me about what’s going on?”

“If I did, I think I’d have worn something to bed,” she bit back. “Quit your gawking. Wherever we are, it’s apparent we were made to be unprepared, judging from your own lack of attire as well as mine.”

Hopelessness. Addison’s heart sank. “Repair,” he said, almost to himself.

“… What?”

“The password. Repair,” he replied. “Does it mean anything to you?”

“Less than my own password. ‘wheRe lies the Earth’s Greatest secret, mAke an Innocent maN beg.’” She quoted her line complete with capital letters. “Regain. Someone’s got a pattern,” she mused after Addison related his own line.

She sighed. “I guess there’s nothing for it. Let’s head towards the water.” She stood up and covered herself as best she could with her arms and hands and looked at him indignantly. “Well? I figure you need a drink much as anyone, so let’s forget our bashfulness and get on with it.” Winn began walking, and Addison followed, hoping she wouldn’t steal her own glances.

They walked in silence through the lifeless forest, Winn in front and Addison behind and slightly to Winn’s left. The wind bit hard on Addison’s nearly naked form, and he thanked God he was wearing anything at all. Poor Winn must be freezing to death, he thought, and noticed her trembling uncontrollably; in that instant, he almost reached out to share his warmth, but took his arm back when she halted the walk and cocked her head to the side, as if listening intently.

“Do you hear something?” he asked, and strained to pick up whatever it was.

“… No,” she said finally. “But I did. Sounded like leaves rustling around in the wind.” She began walking again, pretending not to be cold. The sunlight shining from above the treetops was fading fast, and gave little heat to their backs. The landscape took on a shadowy red hue as they moved relatively due east, another simple fact learned from his Boy Scout days.

The stream turned out to be nothing of the sort; it was, in fact, the greatest thing either of them could have hoped for in their circumstance: a natural hot spring bubbling beautifully clear water in the midst of a rather attractive rock cove hidden on three sides. Winn squealed with glee and rushed to the edge of the water, dipped her toes in, and then practically scrambled into it, escaping the cold wind, and his own eyes that Addison knew she could feel as surely as the wind. He stepped up to the precipice and stared for a moment.

“Kind of convenient, don’t you think?” he asked.

Winn ignored him and dunked her head under the water, splashing back up with her hair matted against her head now. He decided she was indeed quite pretty in that instant. She smiled – something she hadn’t done yet – and said, “Convenience hardly matters if your choices are hypothermia or thermal comfortability. Freeze to death.” And her head disappeared under the bubbly froth again.

He considered this and wondered how Winn could be so clever and naďve at the same time. Surely it mattered that they just happened to find a life-saving hot spring in their present conditions. At the same time, though, it was true that just because it wasn’t mere coincidence didn’t make it any less handy to their needs. He pulled off his socks and briefs while Winn was still submerged and jumped in. Warmth washed over him and relief vibrated out in waves. He barely felt the shock to the sensitive skin where his fingernail used to be when compared to the release of his chills. His head popped back out and he immediately smelled his body odor again; he scrubbed vigorously, hoping to remove the stink before Winn noticed. He laughed when he noticed her doing the same thing.

The two drank, despite worrying about the filth they had just added to the water. The heated pool did not slake Addison’s thirst the way he would have hoped with an icy stream, and worse than that they still needed food. Winn crouched on a rock close to the surface, so that she was sitting with her privates hidden again, but remained mostly under the water. Her back leaned against the back wall of the cove that slipped into the water; Addison thought she might fall asleep like that, and to his surprise, he thought about doing the same.

“Winn, we can’t sleep in the water.”

“I’ll let myself drown before I step out of this paradise, thank you,” she curtly replied.

“Seriously, Winn. Pruning will only get worse the longer we stay in the water. This hot water, especially, will dry us out. We have to think of alternative sleeping arrangements.” He looked to her solemnly, hoping she would take this serious. Perhaps the right word for Winn was "could."

She returned his solemnity with placidity. “Okay, then, Addison. What do you propose? Shall we cuddle up together for warmth or just bypass that awkwardness for straight-up sex?”

He scowled in response. “Jesus.”

“I’m vulnerable, so back off.” She turned her head, ignoring his stare.

Addison tried the logical side of things. “Winn, our survival depends on two things: our ability to stay warm, and our ability to find food. We won’t find food tonight. Our most important concern is warmth.”

She finally took on an apprehensive frown. “Okay, okay. What do we do, then, Boy Scout?”

Addison laughed. “I was a Boy Scout, by the way. Huddling together won’t save us. By itself. If we gather a large pile of these leaves and hide inside near this pool, the combination of the three should be enough to let us sleep. That is, if you’re willing.”

Her nose scrunched as if she was thinking too hard, and she looked him squarely in the eyes. “Swear to me, on your mother’s love, that you won’t take advantage of me.”

“I swear it. No harm will come to you, Winn. I swear on my mother’s love, and to God,” he pledged. And he meant it.

“… Okay, Addison. I just hope you’re not an Atheist.”

“Ha. You might be coarse, but you’ve a clever tongue, Winn.” He turned to the rock wall and began to climb out, but turned back and smiled. “Turn your head, if you please.”

She complied and he scampered out, dragged his briefs on, damned the cold night air, and set about gathering the leaves. He was silently glad for the lack of moonlight as he searched. After a large pile had been assembled – he thought it almost looked cozy – he stripped his briefs off again and jumped back in the water, hoping to warm up before the attempt at sleep came. He hadn’t even bothered to check if Winn was watching.

“Okay, Winn, whenever you’re ready. Climb in first and I’ll follow.”

He closed his eyes and heard Winn take two deep breaths; she was out the water and into the leaves faster than he thought it possible. He mimicked her actions, pulling the briefs and socks along with him. After they were sufficiently covered, he fumbled around in the dark to hand her the scant clothing they had.

“Here, put these on. You’ll need them more than me,” he said.

“… Thank you.” She took them and clumsily got them situated in the absence of light. “So… how do you want to do this?”

He flushed in embarrassment for the hundredth time that day. There would be no getting away from the awkwardness of their situation. “Uh… w-well, if you’ll squeeze in close and press your body to my back, we can avoid, um…” He stumbled for words.

“I got it. No tricky sticks in the night. Kind of a reverse spoon,” she said, obviously trying to con herself into believing this absolutely necessary. She scooted in close and wrapped an arm around him to press their bodies together. Addison cleared his mind of the body parts he felt against his backside, but it turned out to be somewhat difficult.

The hard part accomplished, he found it rather uncomfortable, but relatively warm. “Winn, we’ll find clothing and food tomorrow,” he said. “I promise.”

“Mmhmm,” she agreed, already falling asleep. And she was the one worried about awkwardness!

He tried to think of the problems ahead and the questions behind, but they all seemed paltry and unimportant to their present situation. There would be time yet to discuss the nature of everything, including the third person in that tunnel.

“Good night, Winn.” A light snore answered him, and he presently fell into a fitful rest.

_____