Chapter 3
I’m better off alone, in a way. It’s not like it would make things better if Mr. Lundin had forced someone to be my partner.
Or, even worse, made me tag along with another pair.
I know how that would turn out. They would make a run for it as soon as they got the chance and leave me alone in the woods without a map.
Sometimes I wonder if Mr. Lundin is aware that no one wants to spend time with me and just chooses to ignore it.
Within a minute, I’m in the forest. The fog is even thicker here. Not only is it harder to see, but my other senses are muted too.
The rest of the class has already receded into the mist behind me. I can barely hear my own footsteps, and trees appear out of nowhere as I run.
I like to think I have good eyesight, even in poor visibility, but I almost run smack into a pine tree on my way to the first checkpoint.
Tiny droplets of condensation coat my face and jacket, penetrating the fabric and clinging to my skin.
I’m freezing cold already, and try to shake away the strands of hair clinging to my forehead.
Then I continue in the direction of Lugnet.
According to the map, that’s where the first checkpoint should be.
I catch a glimpse of something orange up ahead. Good, I must be on the right path.
As I get closer, it looks like the checkpoint is floating aboveground. It must be suspended from a branch or something. Through the hazy fog, I can almost make out a shape directly behind it. A kind of shadow image, a colorless silhouette. It seems to be waiting for me.
When I slow down, I notice it’s moving. A thin, shining figure like something out of my dreams. It fills me with horror.
Sweat breaks out on my brow. I stop. My heart pounds, and fear rushes through my veins. I try to swallow but can’t.
Then, suddenly, the haze lifts, and I can breathe again.
The mysterious figure is gone. Did I imagine it? Are all these nightmares making me see things?
I hear a branch snapping. Voices break through the milky mist.
“There it is!”
The voices sound familiar. Jackets and jeans, faces and mouths come into view. It’s Kristoffer and Micke.
I shake my head and tell myself there’s nothing to fear in the fog.
Kristoffer sees me first and gives a start. I must look like a ghost, with hair clinging to my forehead and my eyes wide and watery.
He looks away and says to Micke, loudly enough for me to hear clearly, “The code for the first checkpoint is three hundred and seventy-six!”
I fish my pad out of my pocket and raise my pen to write down the numbers, then hesitate. He announced that number very loudly. He must know I can hear.
I ponder this as I watch them moving away.
Kristoffer mutters something to Micke, who holds the map. Micke nods, and they disappear into the fog again. I walk over to the checkpoint and turn over the marker.
Written in the teacher’s scrawling, boxy handwriting is the number 376. I wince. Why did I doubt Kristoffer and Micke? They’ve never done anything to me. I always suspect the worst.
I put my pad away and check the map again.
The nearest checkpoint is number seven, over by the Gatan dock. I could take a shortcut by climbing over the rocks. That would save me ten minutes.
I grab hold of the wet, slippery rock and hoist myself up. Yellow lichen sticks to my fingers, and I brush it off on my jeans.
I stand up to look in the direction of the veiled sea.
The world is wrapped in cotton wool. I know the Baltic Sea is there, but it’s so still that I can’t hear the whispering waves. I can’t make out a single scrap of pale sky, any boats, or people.
There is so little daylight that it could almost be evening—a dense duskiness the likes of which I’ve never seen before.
Unease tugs at the back of my mind as I continue farther. All sound is swallowed up by the heavy fog. The silence is eerie.
Suddenly, I see another shadow moving about ten yards away.
It’s barely more than an outline, but the unruly hair looks familiar.
It must be Rasmus. I’d expect him to be jogging, but instead he’s walking with slow, clumsy steps in the wrong direction.
He’s heading away from the water, straight into the thick of the woods.
There are no checkpoints in that direction, I’m sure.
Where’s Axel?
I saw them together when Mr. Lundin was handing out the whistles. Of course they’d be working in a pair. They’re always together.
Something isn’t right. Rasmus isn’t walking normally. He’s stumbling.
I have to follow him.
As I get closer, I’m struck by a rank stench. Rotten seaweed, rancid eggs. The stink is so disgusting that it makes me gag. The gentle prickle of fear I felt earlier grows into something bigger, darker. I need to get out of here. I can feel it in my bones, but something compels me to continue.
Why is he walking toward the smell instead of running away from it?
“Rasmus!”
My voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s faint and faltering. I try shouting again anyway, louder this time. “Rasmus!”
He must hear me, but he doesn’t react. He doesn’t even turn to look.
I’m only a few yards away now, and I get a good look at his face. It seems like he’s sleepwalking. I want to reach out and grab his arm, but something makes me hesitate.
Then I see the lights, dancing just a few yards in front of Rasmus’s face.
Small dots of light, like what I imagine fireflies must look like, even though I’ve never seen any in real life. I don’t think they even exist in Sweden, and certainly not on Runmaro. And yet they feel familiar somehow, like something from a dim, distant memory.
The smell is stronger now, so pungent that it’s making it hard to breathe. Rasmus is still stumbling after the lights. I follow.
He appears to be hypnotized, spellbound by the strange points of light.
I know I shouldn’t look at them, but I can’t help it.
Am I under their spell too? It doesn’t feel that way.
I just feel frightened and cold. We are deep among the trees.
A thousand miles from all civilization. At least, that’s how it feels.
I have to do something. I have to stop him.
With my heart in my throat, I lunge forward and grab hold of Rasmus’s arm.
He jolts and turns around. His eyes sweep over my face, but he doesn’t seem to see me. His face is completely blank, like he’s not really there. His eyelids are drooping, and his pupils are so wide and black that his irises are barely visible.
“Rasmus?”
He doesn’t react.
Without a sound, he starts moving again. I can’t hold him back, so I have no choice but to traipse after him.
When I look up, I see them clearly for the first time.
They aren’t lights. They aren’t fireflies.
They are circling one another, with wings on their backs beating so rapidly they’re almost invisible.
They look like humans but much smaller, no bigger than butterflies, with long, slender arms and spidery legs.
They dance around each other hypnotically, in intricate patterns, moving farther and farther away, deeper into the woods.
Rasmus takes another long, lurching step, and I have no choice but to follow. I trip and fall into the heather and moss but manage to get back on my feet, despite the terror weighing me down.
“Rasmus!” I scream, grabbing his jacket with both hands.
I try digging my heels into the ground to get a foothold. It doesn’t help. He must be eight inches taller than me and much heavier. He barely seems to notice.
The fog is closing in from all sides, as if it’s trying to stop me. While I am momentarily distracted by this thought, Rasmus slips away from me.
In one abrupt movement, his back disappears from sight. He’s about to be swallowed up in the mist again.
There’s no time to think.
I leap toward him with all my might. We slam into a tree, and my forehead smacks hard into the trunk. I see stars. I’m weak and dizzy as I try to sit up, and I blink a few times to clear my vision.
The lights are still hovering in front of us.
Now that the creatures are no longer circling each other, I can see that there are four of them.
They are still moving, humming, flickering in place.
They look sort of blurred, both moving and unmoving.
But even with my dizzy, aching head, I realize what they’re doing: They are waiting. Waiting for Rasmus to follow them.
He stirs, lets out a low moan, and attempts to get to his feet.
No.
I look straight at them and hiss, “Go away.”
Time freezes as we stare at each other.
“Go away!” I say again, louder and harsher this time.
And just like that, they vanish.
I sit completely still and try to figure out where they’ve gone.
Rasmus moves again and mumbles something incomprehensible, but I’m busy looking around for the creatures. Where did they go? Where are they? What on earth were they?
Rasmus looks up. He’s pale, as if he’s just woken up from a deep sleep. He has dark circles under his eyes and looks sick.
He turns to me, confused, and says in a weak, quiet voice, “Where’s Axel?”
There’s only one thing left to do. I take out my whistle and blow it as hard as I can.