Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
TUCKER
The blinding rays of the early morning sun shimmer off the surface of the untouched snow.
The road is covered too. I carry both of our bags because I’m a gentleman.
I also carry a box filled with flasks of water from the well.
Forest insists there’s plenty of water available out there, but I’m skeptical it’s not actually poison.
We march towards the van parked just outside the wall, which is the furthest I’ve ever ventured south.
All my adventures have been in the other three directions.
The only thing south is the other world, and I swore I’d never venture that far.
I still can’t believe I’m doing this, but Forest has a way with words. It’s not so much that he’s convincing. Rather, he’s stubborn and technically in charge. He was going to go with or without me, and it’s obviously safer if I chaperone him.
He demanded I leave my hunting bow behind, which was a point of contention because I never go far without it. His reasoning was that I couldn’t be trusted because I have a temper, which is quite ridiculous. I only fight back when I’m pushed. The problem is that people like pushing.
“Do you have everything? I ask, walking in tandem with Forest. “Food, that gun I know you’re hiding in your bag, enough money to buy whatever Bash was supposed to get?”
“I have five grand on me.” Forest slides open the back door of the van and shifts to the side, giving me enough room to finagle past him.
I place the box of water and duffel bags on the seat as Forest props open the front door, climbs over the seat, and turns the key in the ignition.
The motor chugs along until it roars to life.
“Is that a lot?” I slam the rear door, forcing a deluge of snow to roll from the roof.
“You seriously have no concept of money?” He shakes his head and laughs as he clears the snow from the windshield. “I had to learn a lot about the world down there when I left, and I had to learn it fast. I have no idea how the fuck I survived those first few months.”
He climbs into the driver seat and closes the door behind him. I follow his lead, taking a seat beside him. He turns some knobs on the dashboard, forcing cold air from the vents. I’m used to the cold. I’ve adapted. Forest clearly has not. He rubs his gloved hands together and breathes into them.
“What was it like?” I ask, staring out the window as the wipers push lines of snow back and forth. “Down there, I mean.”
He shifts his eyes to me. “Do you want the truth?”
“I’m asking, aren’t I?”
“The worst part is not knowing who the fuck you are, not knowing who you’re going to be.
It’s one uncertain day after another. It’s loneliness in a sea of millions, and when you’re not one of the lucky ones to have someone to love, well it’s a lot harder.
” He tucks his hands beneath his armpits and shivers.
“You fuck to feel alive, but those fucks are strangers when they walk in the door and they’re strangers as soon as they close the door behind them on the way out. ”
I slap the dashboard. “Tell me less.”
“Here, I know who I am and who I’m supposed to be,” he continues. “Here, it’s quiet all the time.”
“You like the quiet?”
“I spent so long running that I never really stopped to think. It’s easier to think when it’s quiet.
The world is loud, with distractions everywhere you look.
There’s always someone in your face letting you know what you’ve done wrong.
Always someone calling your phone demanding money that you owe, but affording cereal and eggs is more important.
People let you know they don’t like your tattoos, your hair, or the way you dress.
They watch with judgmental eyes as men come and go all hours of the night—”
“Again,” I say with a grimace. “Tell me much less.”
He snorts politely. “What I’m trying to say is that the world down below the mountain is casually cruel, but it’s filled with possibilities.
You choose who you want to be, and if you’re good at making decisions, the world is yours.
” He tilts his head to meet my gaze fully.
Dark green eyes that sparkle like emeralds against the blinding light of the snow.
“I’ve never been good at making decisions. ”
“You picked out your outfit this morning. That’s a decision and I have to say, you look dashing,” I say with jest.
He hugs his body tighter and exhales, his breath putting on a show in front of him and dissipating against the windshield. “A very difficult decision to choose from five shirts and three pants.”
And then it comes roaring out like the first thunder of a coming storm, “I’m scared.”
He cackles. “The great Tucker Wilde is scared? That’s hilarious.”
I grab him by the cheek and force him to look at me again.
“I know you can be anyone in the world you choose to be. You’re choosing this place.
You’re choosing me.” I swallow the nothingness in the back of my throat, as if I don’t, it’ll choke me.
“I’m scared that you’re going to wake up one day and choose something else.
I’m scared we’re going to leave this place and you’re going to remember the life you left behind. ”
“Tuck…”
“You hated this place and you left. You came back and you stayed.” I retreat against the window, combing my hands through my cold, damp hair.
“I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but your inability to make decisions is what terrifies me most. I fear you’re so easily swayed that all it’s going to take is the smallest thing and you’re going to run again. You were born for it.”
He arches a curious brow. “Like a wolf?”
“A wolf doesn’t leave its pack.”
“Fine then, a raven.”
“Ravens don’t flee when the weather turns cold.”
“Well, I’m not a fucking fish.”
The cool air shifts to something warmer. Still not hot, but no longer freezing. I thumb at his bottom lip, prying it down. “Are you sure? Your mouth has an uncanny resemblance.”
He chomps his teeth, narrowly avoiding crunching my thumb. “You can’t spend every waking minute worrying about the worst possible outcome. It’ll drive you mad.”
“I think we’re all a little mad.”
“That’s for damn certain.”
He fiddles with the short knob between us, and we roll backwards while turning.
We jerk to a stop and he pushes the knob forward.
A clunking sound bellows out underneath the van, and then the grinding of gears makes me believe the piece of shit is about to fall apart.
He grits his teeth, his knuckles painted white as he grips the knob tighter and pushes harder.
We speed forward, the back of the van peeling sideways.
I grab the compass hanging from my necklace and watch as the needle swivels from side-to-side as we make our way down the mountain.
Endless beauty sits on either side of us.
Trees draped in a snowy masterpiece. It goes on for miles and miles.
There’s a familiarity to it all, like I know these woods like the back of my hand. But I don’t. Not these trees.
We drive for what feels like forever, and it’s stunning just how far the land stretches.
I’ll always hold a grudge that Forest chose to leave me, and it makes me sick to understand how bad he needed to leave.
How far he had to run to do so. Living here must have damn near killed him if the alternative was making this journey on foot.
A gunshot goes off in my left ear.
And then my right.
Piercing. Stabbing. My jaw clenches as I let out a pained gasp.
Forest slams on the brakes. “What’s wrong?”
“The Wilds screams, piercing my ear. It doesn’t want us to leave.” My head jerks forward, and I raise my hands to my ears, holding them as the pain lingers on. “We have to turn back around.”
Forest lets out a full-throated laugh, the cackling of his high-pitched squeal doing nothing to ease the pain in my ears.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?”
“Your ears popped. It happens due to a change in elevation. You’ll recover in a few minutes.”
He’s right, the pain lessens almost in an instant. I exhale sharply, trying to reorient myself. “I went a ways down the other side of the mountain once, and it happened then, too. It was the Wilds telling me to turn back.”
“It was science,” he says flatly, and the car begins again.
A steady pace.
I’m not one to be easily frightened. In fact, I can’t recall a single time I’ve ever been afraid of anything other than losing Forest. And I lost him, and then certainly nothing ever scared me again.
This is different. The fear eats at my soul, the forest darkening under the weight of frosted trees that hang overhead the snow-covered road.
Every tree sings to me, begging me to stay.
A little down the road, the van slows to a crawl and the mood shifts. Forest’s mouth trembles. He grips the steering wheel tighter.
“You feel it too, don’t you?” I ask in a hushed whisper.
He lets out a jittered exhale.
“Like it’s hard to breathe?” I continue. “It’s wrapping around your lungs like a snake, constricting.”
The tired brakes squeal as we come to a complete stop. Forest stares blankly ahead, the soft glow of the headlights poisoning the beauty of the snow. A raven swoops down low and lands on the hood of the van.
Forest and I turn to each other in unison, a silent understanding between us.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” he says, with gravel in his throat. It’s like he needs to convince himself more than he needs to convince me. He wets his lip with his tongue and he hedges on whether to say anything more. “We have to go find Bash.”
I steady a hand on my own heart. “Listen to what’s in here. What is it telling you?”
He clears his throat and looks to the road ahead. “That I should listen to my head instead.”
I brace my back against the seat as he presses hard on the gas, the tires tearing over the snow.
The raven flies away, heading north.
Back home.
The world outside the fog of the mountain doesn’t look much different. I don’t know what I expected it to look like, but it’s just trees and wilderness with a wide-road cutting through the sacred mountains.
I stare out the window, contemplating. “Why are the roads grey?”
“Because they’re made out of asphalt,” answers.
So asphalt is a material, but what is it made of? These are questions I don’t need the answers to, but my curiosity remains piqued. “What’s with the yellow lines?”
“It signals whether it’s okay to pass the car in front of you or not. If it’s a dotted line, then you’re free to pass. If it’s a solid line, you can’t.”
I turn to him, confused. “Why do you need permission for such odd things?”
“Really?” He arches an amused brow. “Our lives in the wilderness are structured by rules dictating everything.”
“If the people out here don’t believe in the Wilds, then what’s stopping them from breaking the rules?”
“People believe in many things.” He repositions himself in his seat, straightening his back against the seat.
It’s been a good few hours and the sun is beginning to seek solace above heavy grey clouds.
“Some people are religious and pray to deities in the sky. Some believe there is more than one god. Some don’t believe in anything at all. ”
“Nothing?” I scoff. Ridiculous. “So they just walk around shrugging their shoulders and are like, damn today is a good day to not believe in anything?”
“I think it’s a little less theatrical than that.” There’s a short pause before he continues, “But yeah, some don’t believe at all.”
It’s not my business what people who do not belong to me believe.
I tilt my head against the window, watching as the wilderness speeds by.
There’s the low valleys where rivers run wild, and monstrous mountains beyond.
I wonder if somewhere out there, there are more of us.
Other villages. Other people with the same understanding of the beauty of The Wilds.
I think of the pain of the trees that were split from their roots, screaming and crying. I think of how pointless it all is to take and take for no reason at all. “All of the trees that were killed for this road.” I sigh, my warm breath fogging the passenger window. “And for what?”
“There’s plenty of wilderness all around these parts.” He glances my way real quick. “You should see the big cities. Can hardly see trees for miles.”
“How many cities are there?”
“Maybe twenty thousand.”
“For what purpose?”
He shakes his head and grins. “There’s a lot of people in the world, Tuck.”
Too many fucking people, apparently.