Wilderness, p.5
Wilderness, page 5
Just visible in the glow of the neon sign, I spot the menacing nightmare staring at me from the fringe of the woods like a hungry lion waiting in the tall underbrush. Mr. Shadow stands there, a static void against the dark forest. His head tilts with a demented curiosity to one side farther and farther until it seems to pop perpendicular to his shoulders.
Shelly puts a protective arm between me and Mr. Shadow, her eyes locked on the evil entity watching from a few dozen yards away. But her electric-blue eyes aren’t filled with dread. They glare back with a fierceness I didn’t know the sweet woman was capable of.
“You can see him too?” I whisper to her.
Shelly turns her intense glare on me and pulls me close. “Listen, my dear, you can’t be afraid. Spectrals are drawn to powerful energies. They feed on it. But the dark ones—like that—thrive on pain and fear. You must be strong. Stronger than you can imagine. The world is full of great and terrible things; you must believe in yourself.”
“Let’s go,” Jeremy calls from the van. “Don’t want to start at New Beginnings on the wrong foot.”
“But… You can… How?” I stammer, desperate to hold on to this remarkable stranger. I’ve been in the dark for more than a decade, haunted by the demonic presence that took my father, and suddenly there’s a beacon of hope. A light in the darkness. It’s so jarring, I don’t know what to say. I have so many questions, but I don’t know where to start. How does she know so much about…spectrals? What are they? Where do they come from? Has she always been able to see them? Why can’t anyone else? Are there others like us?
But before I can find the words, Steve’s hand falls on my shoulder. “Sorry to break up the party, but we really have to get going. Thank you again, Shelly.”
She gives me a reassuring nod. “You can do this.”
As Steve herds me into the van, I hazard one more glance at the woods, but Mr. Shadow has vanished. Shelly, with her spiked gray hair and electric-blue eyes hidden behind flamingo glasses, waves goodbye from under the bright lights as Jeremy puts the van in gear.
With a lurch, we take off down the road, leaving behind the one person in this world who truly understands what I’m going through. As much as I want to jump out and never leave that colorful diner, I take solace in knowing one indisputable fact: I am not alone. The words play over and over in my head, and I can’t help but smile. I have waded in a sea of misery and doubt and fear with a dark entity as my only companion for more than ten years, but now I have a lifeline. A connection I thought I would never find again. For the first time in forever, I have hope.
Chapter 6
Shelly called them spectrals. It’s good to know they aren’t actually spirits. That’s one question answered, a million more to go. How many different types of spectrals are there? Where do they come from? Why aren’t they in school science books? Shelly said , We’re a dying breed . Was she talking about others who can see spectrals? Was she being literal or figurative about us dying off? Are we an endangered species being hunted? Am I an alien?
I stare out the window to distract myself. The sun sets behind the Payette National Forest treeline, casting the big sky in twilight blues and purples. Removed from any form of civilized society, this place has no light pollution to dull the encroaching night. With each passing second, the night fills the sky and descends into the forest.
Looking out the window was a bad idea.
Where are we going anyway? I wasn’t expecting the Four Seasons, but we’re getting beyond the boonies at this point. We haven’t driven past a car, a light, or even a road sign in forever. At least the road is paved.
Jeremy hits a deep pothole, banging my head against the window.
“Will there be other kids out here too?” I ask, rubbing the goose egg forming.
Steve nods. “Some have been out here a while. Could probably host their own survival show with all the cool stuff they’ve learned. Trust me, at no point are you going to be alone.”
That’s what I’m afraid of. “What if someone gets hurt or a bear attacks or something?”
Steve waves off the question. “There’ll be two highly trained wilderness therapists out there with you: Marcus and Shawn. They know these woods like the back of their hands. You’re safe and sound with them, but just in case something does happen, they have satellite phones to call for help. But they haven’t had to make a call like that for a few years.” Steve turns and gives me his best Santa-with-a-plateful-of-cookies smile. “You got nothing to worry about.”
“We’re here!” Jeremy pulls off the somewhat-paved highway and onto a thin dirt road.
Branches scrape against the side of the van as we make our way along the overgrown path. Ahead, the dirt opens into a small campground with a wooden arch and a busted sign hanging from one rusted chain.
I have to tilt my head to the side to read it: ponderosa campground.
The headlights illuminate a small wooden bench at the end of the dirt clearing. Leaning against it is a woman half my size and no more than a hundred pounds, with her arms crossed and military cap pulled low over her eyes. Even from this distance, the scowl below the brim makes me sit up straight. I’m guessing by Jeremy’s and Steve’s reactions that this is the infamous Shawn.
“She’s really very sweet once you get to know her,” Jeremy tries but fails to soften the intimidating statue waiting for us. I grab my sketchbook and hop out.
Shawn glances at her watch. “Twenty fifteen. You’re supposed to be here at twenty hundred. I’d ask why you’re late, but that’ll just waste more time, and I’d like to reach camp before we lose all the light.”
Shawn glares at the two men towering over her, but her unwavering stare makes them seem small. I’m surprised to see she looks like she’s still in college. Her camouflage hat does its best to hide her short brown-highlighted hair pulled in a tight ponytail and her big brown eyes.
The moment she turns that hard glare on me, it vanishes, replaced with a gentle smile. “You must be Cody. I’m Shawn Navarro. I’ll be your therapist during your time with us. It’s nice to meet you.”
Shawn reaches out her hand, and I shake it without a second thought. It’s a firm grip, probably from years of having to prove herself to bigger people, but it’s also warm. The tension in my shoulders eases a little.
She turns back to my two escorts. “Thank you, gentlemen. I can take it from here.”
Steve waves goodbye. “Good luck, Cody.”
Jeremy is right behind him. “You got this, my man. Stay strong. Remember, this is a fresh start for you. Be the best Cody you can be.”
Let’s see Jeremy be the best version of himself with a parasitic nightmare breathing down his neck for a decade. But I bottle the frustration. I’ve heard it all before with every “fresh start.” All I need to do is try harder and things will get better. Like it’s my fault. If they could see the darkness haunting me, they wouldn’t be so quick to judge.
Steve and Jeremy get in the van and take off. The taillights disappear down the dirt road, and the last sound I hear is tires catching pavement.
Shawn sighs. “We’re going to have to skip the formalities if we want to reach basecamp before nightfall.” She reaches into her large backpack and pulls out a thick folder. One of the tabs is labeled with my name.
“I have to go over a couple of things here with you, okay? You don’t have to answer them if you don’t want to, but I’m going to ask that you be completely honest with me. I can’t help you if I don’t know the truth. That’s my number one rule: you don’t bullshit me and I don’t bullshit you. Deal?”
Sounds great. Honesty is what landed me here in the first place. Does she really expect me to just spill my guts right now and tell her all the shit I’ve seen and magically be okay?
I’ve been through this before. My file says past trauma and my inability to cope with the loss of my father mixed with mental illness have led me to this point, so now I need to accept the fact that I need help and blah blah blah. Look at where that’s all gotten me—thrown away in the one place that’ll probably trigger me the most with a tiny drill sergeant and bunch of teenage nutcases. Awesome.
I just nod.
“Good. First, I see you have no history of drug or alcohol abuse. You’ve never snuck a drink at a party or something?”
“I don’t get invited to a lot of parties.”
“No history of self-harm or suicidal ideation?”
I roll my eyes. Couldn’t she just read my other therapists’ notes? “No. I have not nor have I ever attempted to hurt myself. I started showing symptoms of schizophrenia at the age of four that were exacerbated after the tragic passing of my father. My home life is stressful, and I’ve had to become the caretaker of my twin sisters since my mother is working—”
“Okay, I get it. You’ve been through this before.” Shawn lowers the checklist. “How about this: it says here you see things you call spirits. Do you think they’re real?”
I hesitate. I’ve had therapists ask this in the past, but there’s always a tone of judgment. A hint of mocking me in how they ask the question. They’ve already decided what the “right” answer is and want to see just how far back I am in the crazy train. But there’s no accusation in Shawn’s voice; instead it sounds like honest curiosity. She stares back, waiting for my answer.
I find a dirt clod on the ground that needs a good kicking.
“What do they look like? Are they people who have died?”
“They’re not ghosts,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“Okay. So what are they?”
“Almost got me there. Feigning interest. So original.” I nod toward the dying light. “I thought you said we were going to be late?”
“Fair enough,” Shawn folds up the binder and stuffs it away. “We can finish this on the walk. I’m not going to pressure you into telling me anything you’re not ready to. This is a judgment-free place. I’m only here to help you.”
She leads me to the bench where a backpack and a ton of gear are laid out. I recognize most of it: canteen, flashlight, a pile of extra clothes, a sleeping bag, tent, some sort of mosquito netting, a small zipped black baggie, and a shovel.
“This is your gear from here on out. You and you alone are responsible for it. You lose it, sucks for you. You break it, better fix it. Tear it, get good with a needle and thread.” She reaches over and opens the baggie. “In here you’ll find a flint and steel for fire starting, a compass, toothbrush and paste, and a personal locator beacon. Don’t be the idiot who loses their personal locator beacon. I recommend you don’t even touch it.”
“What about, like, ropes and knives and stuff?”
Shawn shakes her head. “Only therapists carry anything that can be used for self-harm. On top of everything you see here, I also have the first-aid kit, multipurpose knife, emergency glow sticks, SAT phone, map, hooks and line for fishing, MREs, bear spray, and a flare gun. Needless to say, if you touch my bag, you’re on the next trek outta here.
“As for clothes, you’ll wear New Beginnings attire. With winter coming, I recommend layering up, especially at night. If you’ve never done laundry, learn quick. You’ll be in charge of the washing, cleaning, drying, and overall maintenance of your apparel.” She hands me the pile of folded clothes.
I raise an eyebrow. “You want me to change? Here? In front of you?”
“You got it. Down to your underwear. Got to make sure you’re not smuggling anything into the program. Kids are creative with where they stash things, so we eliminate the risk and give you everything you need. Hurry up. We’re losing daylight.”
I turn my back to her and change. The tan cargo pants are a little baggy but hold up on their own. At least the bright-orange shirt with the artsy New Beginnings logo of a sun rising over a treeline fits well. The wool socks and boots are a little snug, but I guess they should be if we’re going to be hiking all the time.
As I’m tying up my boots, Shawn picks up my sketchbook. “Don’t touch that.”
She doesn’t open it, but she doesn’t put it down either. “Sorry, but I have to. I get it—this is yours. Probably means a lot to you since it’s your one personal item, but I have to make sure nothing’s in here that can hurt you or others. You understand, right?”
“Nothing’s in there. Just drawings.”
“I want to take you at your word, but for safety purposes—”
“Trust is a one-way thing then, huh? You want it but won’t give it.” I focus on the laces, hoping the guilt trip is enough to make her put it down.
“Trust is a road we build together, one brick at a time. Right now I have to make sure you’re up for the job.” With that, Shawn shuffles through each and every page of my book. I imagine she’s looking for one thing in particular, but there’s no images of Mr. Shadow. Nothing disturbing or demented or any ramblings of a crazy kid haunted by imaginary monsters. I will never put Mr. Shadow in there. I get enough of his all-consuming, suffocating presence every day. My sketches help remind me there’s more than him out there. The book is half filled with light spectrals I came across recently; it’s my way of remembering the beauty and wonder my dad saw. My way of fighting back Mr. Shadow’s darkness and holding on to whatever light I can. The last sketch is of Shelly's friend Luna, which I did after we got back in the van.
When I’m done changing, Shawn stands there with my closed sketchbook. “You’re incredibly talented. If this is the world you see…” She smiles as I take it back. “Come on. It’s time to go.”
Shawn helps me pack the rest of the gear and lug it onto my back. It’s like carrying Haylee and Kaylee at the same time. How the hell am I going to carry this thing around for the next couple of months?
“So, uh, how far is basecamp?”
“Not too far,” Shawn says as she hoists her own backpack like it’s stuffed with feathers. “About six and a half kilometers.”
“And for those of us born in America?”
“A little over four miles.” With a wicked smile, she takes off into the woods. I have to jog to catch up, already feeling the strain on my legs and lungs.
I’m going to die out here.
Chapter 7
I…hate…my…life…
Even my thoughts are out of breath. I have no idea how long we’ve been going at this. Hours ago I learned to stop asking how much farther. After the third time the distance didn’t change, I wanted to lie down and die. I don’t even have enough energy to be terrified of Mr. Shadow looming somewhere in the shadows. But Shawn’s motivation has kept me going. It’s basically this: you get to eat and sleep when you get there, but until then, get your rear in gear.
That and my grumbling stomach keep me moving.
It doesn’t help that she doesn’t have a bead of sweat on her. I think she gets some kind of sick enjoyment out of watching me suffer. And the whole time she’s been talking like we’re standing still. It doesn’t matter if we were hiking through a ravine, scaling boulders, or cutting through the underbrush, it’s like she’s taking an easy stroll on the beach.
I’ve blanked out most of what she said. I haven’t done it on purpose; it was more because the blood needed to run my brain was being diverted to the muscles that were about to fail if I tripped over one more tree root.
The gist of it all is this: don’t screw up. It’s the same speech I’ve heard from Mom every time we move combined with the lecture I get every time I’m grounded. But the one thing that stuck with me was the acronym Shawn used: A GHOST. It stands for:
Always partner up. Can’t even go to the bathroom alone.
Group therapy. Morning and evening with a sprinkling of individuals throughout.
Hygiene. Bathe/shower at every water source. Girls first, then boys.
Ownership. I’m responsible for my stuff and my progress.
Sleep. Sun down, head down. Sun up, wake up.
Team. Help each other get better, so no relationships or harmful comments/acts.
I’m not a fan of the acronym, but at least it’s hard to forget.
The only saving grace for this grueling hike is the spectrals. It’s been so long since I stepped foot into the forest, I’d forgotten how alive it can be. As the sun disappears, more and more spectrals come out. Light and dark critters of all shapes and sizes fly on translucent wings, swing on their many tails, or dart in and out of the undergrowth. And the sound—the woods are alive with an orchestra of light and music. The hair on my arms stands on end with the wonderful energy coursing around me.
In the distance, a new sound breaks through: laughter coming from a glow dancing behind some bushes. The light of a fire. We’ve reached camp! Finally I can take this load off.
Shawn stops and turns to me. “We’ll walk in and I’ll introduce you, okay? This is a good group, so you have nothing to worry about. Ready?”
I try my best to quell my growing nerves. I take a second to collect myself, straighten my sweat-drenched shirt, and take a deep breath. Shawn gives me a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and we head into camp.
Six bright orange tents create a semicircle around a campfire in the middle of the clearing. String runs from tent to tent with clothes hanging to dry. Around the fire, four people are either sitting on a rock or lying on their backpack.
The smell of barbecue hits my nose and my stomach roars with hunger pains. A man in his thirties with long dreadlocks, a ragged beard, hemp hoodie, and beaded necklace rotates two slabs of meat on a skewer over the fire with a tea kettle on the verge of boiling.
He sees us walk in. “Well, hello there, my compatriots. Welcome to our humble abode.”
The others around the fire turn to stare at me.
I realize during the entire hike I came up with nothing to say. “Uh, hey?” I try my best to smile, but it comes across more as a grimace, especially after the hours of hiking. I give a half-hearted wave and am already disappointed with myself. Awesome first impression. Way to start it off strong, Cody.
