Chapter 24
Chapter
Twenty-Four
FOREST
Iwake up in a cold sweat, my body on fire but my teeth chattering. I’m torn between the extremes of freezing and overheating. I turn onto my side, but Tucker isn’t there. The moon shines brightly through the window, lighting the way to the open bedroom door.
I sit up too fast. My head spins.
A shadow races by the open door.
“Tucker?”
No response.
I swing my feet over the edge of the bed and find the cold floor beneath my toes. Smoke stirs in the fireplace, the fire itself extinguished. He should be here. He’s always here. Watching. Waiting.
My head throbs and only intensifies when I try to pull my vision into focus.
Everything is a blur. The edges of my line of sight smudge together.
I rise to my feet, wearing nothing but a pair of white briefs, and walk to the hallway.
Like crossing a road, I look both ways before stumbling out into the hall.
I steady a hand on the wall to help keep my balance.
When I reach the stairway, I call out for Tucker again, but he doesn’t respond.
It’s not like him to leave me like this, especially at night.
He’s become a warm blanket and right now, I need something to cling to.
I grab the railing on the stairs and make my way down slowly.
When I reach the lower level, I stumble through the living room to grab my fur coat off the rack and slip into a pair of boots.
I slide the glass doors open. A howl of wind ruptures my ears, the biting cold nipping at my face and bare legs.
I close the door behind me. Heavy snow falls upon the moonlit path ahead.
I search the pockets of my coat and find a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
It’s been two days without nicotine and even though it’s not the best idea I’ve ever had, I could use a smoke.
I place a cigarette between my chattering lips and flick the Zippo.
Spark. Spark. Spark.
It doesn’t light. Broken, out of lighter fluid, or I’m simply not strong enough. The words engraved on the side taunt me—Can’t go back. My vision slips out of focus as the lighter falls from my hand, landing in the snow.
The words have been a warning all along.
The memories flood me, taking me back to the county fair nine years ago.
It was my first taste of anything like it.
The dizzying rides that twisted my stomach into knots.
The deep-fried food and the sweets that filled me with energy.
Handmade crafts around every corner and a man selling personalized lighters.
He asked what I wanted and engraved the lighter right in front of me.
The words were a constant reminder that I didn’t want to ever lose that feeling of wonder.
But the snow is a foot deep now, and there’s no going back.
I should have listened. I should have remembered.
Something ruptures in my gut and climbs up the back of my throat.
I choke on it as it rushes upward, vomiting clear liquid that melts a hole in the snow.
I throw my body against the exterior of the house, winded and tired.
I dig into the snow, find my lighter, and place it back in my pocket.
When I turn back around to pry the door open, I jump in place and my heart jolts.
It’s Tucker, wearing a fur coat that is darker than the one he normally wears. Although my eyes might be playing tricks on me. He’s fuzzy, but his figure is unmistakable. I reach for the door handle to slide it open, but I’m stopped in my tracks.
Tucker taps a knife on the window and smiles.
He slides the door open. “You had to have known this day would come.”
Something tells me to run, but it’s Tucker. My watcher. My protector.
He waves the knife over his face, his eyes following the blade. “I’m not supposed to be here, but I’m awfully glad I am.” He cocks his head sideways. “Why aren’t you running?”
I stumble backwards, my boots digging into the snow. Tucker matches every step I take until I turn and attempt to run away. I’m in no shape to run, though. The best I’m capable of is a jogging limp. The world around me tilts sideways,
The shadows of branches hang over the tree-lined path leading to the village. They tremble in the wind, their shadows dancing on the ground. The snow deepens, spilling over the top of my boots and filling the inside. The cold bites at my ankles.
I brace a hand on each tree as I pass, using them as leverage for the next sprint.
When I glance over my shoulder, Tucker is right behind me. He keeps up while walking at a casual pace. It goes to show how sick and weak I am that I can’t gain any distance.
My chest tightens. My lungs expand with every inhale of freezing air.
“Forest,” Tucker screams. “Counting down the minutes to zero.”
I tumble face-first in the snow, inhaling a mouthful of winter fury. I scream into the mound as Tucker pulls me up by my jacket. He throws me against the trunk of a tree and holds the cold edge of the blade against my throat.
“Tuck,” I plead. “What are you doing?”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” He grunts and presses the knife tighter, cutting off my oxygen but not cutting me open. Yet. “I don’t know if you’re stupid or if you’re blind.”
It begins in my stomach, burning through my esophagus and erupts from my mouth, all over his face.
“Jesus Christ,” he screams, wiping the vomit from his face.
I drive my knee into his balls, eliciting a pained groan.
Then, I’m gone, limping away from him. Torches burn bright in the near distance as I escape out of the forest and into the clearing of the village.
There’s a gathering of people around the monument.
I let out a stifled cackle as I approach, placing my hand on the shoulder of the first person I come across.
He turns around.
It’s Tucker.
I gasp and step backward, lose my balance, and fall on my back. Tucker reaches his hand out to me, but I crawl away. “You tried to kill me.”
He stops in place and searches with his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“You… a knife.”
He squats down beside me, bracing a hand under my head. “You shouldn’t be out of bed.”
Tucker took me back to the manor and tidied me up in bed. He sits on a chair beside me with his bow propped against the nightstand.
“I know what I saw,” I say. “It was you.”
He bobs his head. “You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”
“No, I’m not,”
He leans over, wiping my forehead with the back of his palm. “You’re getting hotter.”
“Why were you all at the monument?”
He averts his gaze. “Things aren’t looking good out there.”
I sit up in bed and groan from the exertion. “What?”
He stands up, places a hand on my chest, and guides me back down onto the bed.
“You’re not the only one seeing things. Delusions and hysteria.
Fever, cough, chills, body aches, vomiting.
Whatever is spreading, you have it.” He clears his throat and pulls back, his head bobbing to the side.
He exhales sharply as he grabs a jar of water off the nightstand and twists the lid off. “I’m sick too.”
“Something isn’t right, Tuck.”
He leans over me and props my head up with one hand while he offers me the water with the other.
I sip it slowly. The warm water offers a moment of respite against the back of my swollen throat.
He retreats, gently guiding my head back onto the pillow.
He takes a seat on the chair and stares at the snow blowing sideways against the frosted window.
I close my eyes and see a river flowing through the forest, silent and peaceful. A raven soars overhead and dives into the river, plucking a fish from the water. It flies into the forest, ducking between low-hanging tree branches only to be snatched by the jaws of a wolf.
My eyes flash open.
I bolt up in bed and throw the covers off me.
I jump out of bed, no longer weak or dizzy. I grab my coat and throw it on.
Tucker jumps up too, grabs me by the arm, and pulls me back. “You need to rest.”
“No…” I whisper, trying to make sense of the sudden clarity. All the fog has been lifted from my brain. The back of my throat clears and my stomach growls, hungry from starving myself these last two days. Electrical currents branch outward in my head. “Where did that water come from?”
“You’re not—”
I rip away from his grasp. “Where?”
He shrugs with a nod of his head. “I found it in the van earlier from when we went down the mountain.”
My heart pounds faster. “Did you drink it?”
“No,” he says. “It’s not safe for you to be walking around. Your mind isn’t right.”
“You’re sick, Tucker!”
He fumbles backward, his head dropping. “Do you think I don’t know that? I know I’m fucked up sometimes. I do fucked-up things.”
“No.” It’s my turn to grab him. I take hold of both his arms and force him to meet my gaze. “I mean, you’re sick. You’ve been sick.”
His eyes say everything. He’s not getting it, either because he’s too sick or because he doesn’t want to. Maybe I’m not explaining it clearly enough. I sigh in frustration and run out of the room.
“Wait!” he screams from behind, giving chase.
He’s slower than usual, hugging his body against the wall.
I race down the stairs, leaving him in the dust. The sconces on the walls in the library give just enough light so that when I flip open the book, I’m able to read the passages if I squint hard enough.
I search through the tattered pages and lean on page ninety.
Tucker storms into the library with a huff, but before he can speak, I turn to him with the book in hand.
I read straight from the pages, “The mountain provided in the form of the purest fountain. One drink was all it took to know the truth. Whoever shall drink from the fountain would know God. Water was more than necessary for survival. It fed the hunger of wisdom.” I let out an audible gasp.
“It was in the water.” I slam the book shut and toss it onto the desk.
I grab him by both cheeks and laugh. “It’s not in the water anymore. Why?”
“What is in the water?” He drags his palms under his heavy eyes. “You’re not making sense.”
I brush past him and scoff. “Camilla died and everyone is getting sick. You don’t find the timing strange?” I twist back to him. “Look at me. I’m coherent again. I can walk, talk, think. All of my symptoms are gone.”
“The Wilds need you, so it imbued you with the strength—”
“Stop it,” I scream. “Listen to what I’m telling you. The Wilds aren’t real.”
“I knew you’d do this,” he says, his voice strained. He points at me, his eyes burning with a potent combination of sadness and rage. “I have given you everything I can. But it’s never been good enough.”
“Put it all together,” I laugh incredulously.
“What we know about my parents, that life they lived on the other side. This book?” I pick the book back up again and shove it into his hands.
“Look at the name on the cover. Joel Wolfe. My grandfather was Joel Wilde. Fred Wolfe. Filo Wilde. Why does my mother need to keep this place safe if the Wilds protect it?”
He launches the book out of the room, landing somewhere in the living room. “Enough!”
His scream echoes off the walls of the small library, howling with a sullen rage.
“It’s all a lie,” I whisper, shaking my head. I notice the way each new word breaks him a little more. I’ve been there before. That feeling of knowing everything is a lie. “Why did the water that was filled from the well days ago absolve me of my sickness?”
He bites into his lip and pounds the side of his head against the frame of the door. His eyes drift right on past me, staring into an abyss of the unknown.
“When a drug addict is deprived of their drugs, they go into withdrawals.” The first time I left this place, I was sick for weeks.
I believed it to be because my immune system didn’t have the mechanism to protect me from outside germs. In reality, it was because my body was suffering from the sudden quitting of whatever it is that’s in the water.
“There are two cures for withdrawal. You either stick it out or you go back to the thing that’s killing you. ”