Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
TUCKER
Achorus of cicadas suffocates the whispers of the forest while a dense fog simmers from the ground.
A glimpse of the morning sun cracks through an opening in the trees above, a conspiracy of ravens dancing in a circle.
The air smells of pine and honeysuckle, with the faintest hint of blood in the distance.
My boots crunch over fallen branches, snapping them in half as I make my way deeper into the forest. The remnants of a doused campfire carry through the breeze, particles of ash sprinkling upon my arm.
I’m getting close.
I come to a stop, angle my head to the sky, and inhale the fog, the smoke, and the whispers of the Old Ones. My gaze shoots to the right, and I immediately give chase.
There’s a compass hanging from a necklace that slaps against my chest with every swing of my arms as I race through the forest. It’s pointless attire.
I haven’t had the need for a compass since I was a little kid.
I’ve learned to navigate these ancient woods and know every tree, every rock, and every stump by name.
I race through the forest, ducking under low-hanging branches and swatting leaves from my path. Up ahead, the last dying breath of a smoldered fire gives away the last position of my prey.
When I arrive, there’s a makeshift tent made of broken branches and leaves. There are more gaps in the shelter than there is actual coverage, and I would think the Harper brothers could have put together something slightly less offensively inept.
Beside the dying fire, Miles Harper lies… well, dying. His brown shirt has been torn to shreds, and there’s a piece of it wrapped around the arrow wound on his thigh. As I approach, I kick a knife out of reach of the fallen man.
I drop my hunting bow on the ground and stare at the man with pity. “Your brother left you here to die?”
It’s not a question.
Miles groans, reaching for the knife that is now out of reach.
For good measure, I stomp on the knife and hold it in place.
“One of us had to make it out,” he says lowly, the life draining from his body.
I search my surroundings with my eyes and find a red handprint pressed into the bark of an ancient pine tree.
That’s the way the other man went. I take stock of my immediate surroundings.
The storm that passed through last night could have killed them both.
If it were me on the run, I would have kept on running through the damn storm.
But some people aren’t born with common sense or a penchant for survival.
I look back down at the fallen man. “How far do you think he’ll get?”
“Far enough.”
I nod. We’re equally optimistic of the outcome, but my optimism ends with the older brother being found dead. “We both know how this story ends.”
Miles’s voice cracks with a pained cough. “Kill me and get it over with.”
I kneel down beside him. The ground is damp, the air rife with the ghosts of the embers that came before. “You have to understand that I never wanted this. The Wilds—”
“It’s not fuckin’ real,” he scowls.
I grab him by the back of the head and cradle him in my lap.
Nobody should have to die alone. He resists at first, but what the fuck is he going to do?
He’ll thank me later for the comfort in his last moments.
“I saw death for the first time when I was three years old. It terrified me. I experienced it again when I was seven, and it wasn’t quite as bad.
When we’re born into this place, we are renting time from the Wilds.
It always comes to collect, dragging us back into the dirt.
It’s best not to fight it. To go out kicking, screaming, clawing onto whatever you can…
That shouldn’t be your last memory.” I take his hand into mine and intertwine my fingers with his.
“What it so abundantly gives, it can so easily take.”
His deep emerald eyes glisten, wincing at the corners. It takes every bit of strength he can muster to raise his hand to caress the side of my cheek. Gentle. A fragile touch as if either of us might break.
“Fuck you.” He spits a blood-soaked loogie into my face, spattering against my cheek right under my right eye. His touch turns violent, scraping at the side of my face, clawing away at the thin layer of skin.
But I don’t respond with violence.
I respond with empathy.
I grab him by the wrist and force his hand back onto his own chest. “Do you want me to kill you now, or do you want to pray that your brother somehow makes it out? Pray that he somehow comes back for you?”
The trees whisper the proverbs of the Wilds as the dirt reclaims what belongs to it.
Behind me, the lights have gone out for Miles Harper.
Ahead of me, Jediah Harper is running on borrowed time.
When you turn your back on the wilderness, there’s only one way it can end.
This place doesn’t let anyone escape its grasp. They know this and yet they still try to run, staving off death for as long as possible. One boy escaped once, and now everyone and their brother thinks they can be the next Forest Wilde. The next one who gets away.
But what they don’t know is that Forest never truly left.
He’ll be back, and he’ll take his throne he never earned.
Because there’s nothing fair about the Wilds.
There’s nothing fair about life.
Just ask Miles and Jediah Harper. Two days ago, they woke up in their own beds, in their own homes, in their own community. One day ago, they stopped playing by the rules.
Today, they die.
Jediah’s feet splash through the raging creek that’s encroached on the land all around it as the ravine fights to offload the rainwater from the storm.
One of the first things we are ever taught in this life is that the creek will always lead you home.
If we’re ever lost, we know we can find home again by following the flow of water. Mostly true.
Except the path Jediah has chosen to take only leads to certain death.
I chase after him, running along the muddied bank.
Up ahead, the fury of the bone falls roars into focus, drowning out the songs of the birds and cicadas. Jediah comes to an abrupt stop. He stumbles forward, his arms flailing at the sides. He’s backed up against a waterfall and there’s nowhere left to run.
He turns to me with a sullen look on his pale white face and standing in water that’s risen to his knees. His hands are bloodied and his blue flannel shirt is soaked with mud.
My boots splashing through the water must fill him with the dread of a hangman approaching the gallows. “How did you think this was going to end?”
He huffs, his eyes searching in both directions. Sure, he could attempt to run any which direction, but he knows I’d catch him. This is where it ends. He and his brother had all night to outrun me and here we are. He grits his teeth and shoots me a defiant glare. “You’re all fucking sick.”
“You have two options.” I pull a barbed arrow from the quiver and nock it. “I can shoot this arrow through your throat, or you can jump.”
“What difference does it make? Either way I die.”
“Do you have no faith in the Wilds?” I arch my arm backward, readying the arrow. “It’s not a certainty that you’ll die. I jumped from this very waterfall once. And like all water, it led me home. You survive the fall, and we’ll welcome you back with open arms.”
“I… I can’t.”
Can’t jump or can’t go back?
“Pray to the Wilds one last time,” I shout. “It’s all you have left.”
I squint one eye and pull harder on the bowstring, readying my aim.
He cocks his head over his shoulder and quickly looks back at me. His eyes—the same dark emerald green as his brother's—plead with me. It’s the same look his brother had on his face just as he pleaded with me to slit his throat.
And then he turns and he’s gone, jumping feet first over the ledge.
His screams echo over the melody of the raging waterfall, and when the screaming stops, I make my way to the ledge. Water crashes over the slippery rocks, soaking my boots. At the basin of the waterfall, Jediah’s lifeless body floats downstream.
The Wilds gives and the Wilds takes.
It watched over me all those years ago when I took the plunge from this very spot.
A familiar whisper brushes over my shoulder, and when I turn around, I can hear the voice clearly through the trees.