Authors: Aaron Ross Powell
Then the guy with the hat took it away from his face, stood up, and pointed in a direction fortunately away from where Elliot was sitting. The singing stopped, one of them picked up the box, another took the table, and they started walking where the man with the hat had indicated.
Elliot, being as careful as he could, followed.
The whole ritualistic air of the gathering vanished as soon as the group started making their way through the woods. They became just another bunch of guys, hiking in the mountains, talking among themselves, laughing and chatting. The leader, the one with the hat, would wave his hand to stop them occasionally, then stick his face back in for a minute or so before leading the group off in a corrected direction.
Elliot watched all this from his carefully hidden spot, moving slowly behind them and keeping trees between himself and the robed figures. He was on the edge of being more scared of them than he was of the crazies. They were normal-in the sense that they talked to each other like normal people do-and they didn’t gibber or scream or mumble, but they were also wandering through the woods in robes and staring at rocks in top hats. They had a cult vibe, like satanists or Masons, and that kind of thing didn’t go over in a town like Charlottesville.
Elliot followed them as they climbed through streams, huffed their way over little hills, and jogged across a meadow. He sensed maybe this was a mistake, that he should have stuck to the path and seen where the cart tracks lead, but by the time these doubts occurred to him, the little pack of cultists had taken him far beyond where he could easily backtrack from.
So he held his course, just praying they’d get where they were going soon and, if it wasn’t civilization, turn around and head home. And, he knew, every step he took in these mountains lessened the chance of finding Evajean. He might have been better off just staying by the truck and waiting for her to come back. Too late for that now.
Had Elliot been prescient-were he able to see the future in a top hat-he’d have been both assured by his choice and fearful, for events would soon reunite the traveling companions, yet also bring dangers and revelations Elliot would at many times wish he could have pleasantly avoided. But now he could only follow the men and let curiosity carry him along.
Eventually they did stop. The terrain had grown denser, more rugged, and older, with thick trees bent and weathered, and large rocks smothered with lichen. It was near one of these the man with the hat called a halt, raising his hand to the others, then crouching down next to the rock. He brushed away some moss and branches and revealed a small gap between the stone and the ground. Elliot watched all this from behind his own large rock near the top of one of the small hills that formed the shallow valley in which this peculiar journey had ended.
Looking down now he could see the group fan out around their leader, talking quickly and excitedly to each other. He wished for not the first time that he could make out what they were saying, but his distance from them had, as a precaution, always been too great to hear the conversation. He thought about creeping closer but quickly passed on the idea: better to see this through and not jinx it so close to the end.
The leader climbed down, fussing with his robes, and stuck his head into the hole between stone and ground. Crawling forward, he managed to squeeze in up to the waste and another member of the group took hold of one his legs, perhaps concerned that he’d fall in to whatever was down there. The remaining members shifted nervously, looking at each other and occasionally smiling. They don’t know what’s in that tiny cave, either, Elliot thought. He didn’t think they were as clueless as he was but he had the distinct impression they were trying to cover how much they expected to be disappointed.
And then a cry came from in the cave. It must have been loud to make it past the man’s body and all the way up to Elliot and, when the guy had finally pulled himself out, Elliot could understand why. It took help from three of the cultists to get him free, though, and when he popped out of the tight hole his robes were filthy and his hair was covered with dirt and moss. But clutched tightly in his hands was another box, this one much smaller than what they’d had on the table in the circle. It was too far away for Elliot to make out any details but from the way they handled it, he could tell it was valuable or old, or both. The leader handed it back to one of the men who’d helped him out of the gap and that man handed it to the one next to him after gazing for a few heavy seconds at the box’s lid. This second man sat down on the earth, put the box between his legs, and pulled a large knife from his belt. His back was to Elliot, obscuring most the view, but from the movements he could see, Elliot figured he was using the knife to pry the thing open.
There was a quick cry from all the men when he succeeded and, as he held the now open box above his head in triumph, the light from the torches rippled spectacularly upon the heaped and shiny gold within. Treasure hunters. That’s what they were doing out in the woods, and the one with the hat had somehow been able to point the proper direction, to find with the help of that stone where the chest was buried. If the world hadn’t been so entirely screwed up of late, Elliot would have thought it was all a game or a trick. But now, with what he’d seen and what he’d heard, he found himself readily willing to accept that these perfectly reasonable looking guys-except, of course, for the creepy robes-had scryed the location of hidden treasure in a manner just as bizarre as finding water with a stick.
Elliot, amazed by what he was seeing, failed to hear the noises behind him. He payed no attention to the footsteps and the chattering, gave no thought to the breathing. Elliot only realized they’d found him when the hand came down on his shoulder and the woman in red screamed into his ear.
She was there with her suited companions and, Elliot saw with some horror as he whipped around, she’d gathered at least a dozen more. They stood in a loose formation behind her, wedge shaped, every last one staring at him with looks that were otherwise blank except for a faint crinkle of regret.
He screamed back at her, fright and startlement overriding all else, and under it he could hear shouts from the men in robes down below. None of that mattered, though, because he was back with the woman in red and now she’d be able to finish what she’d started, what she’d meant to complete if it weren’t for his fortunate flight.
Elliot flinched away from her, tried to get up and run, but the two suits were on him, each grabbing an arm and forcing him to the ground. They were efficient this time, making sure to pin him properly so he couldn’t kick his way out. The woman smiled-she actually
smiled
-and the suits lifted him until he was standing. Two others from the flock grabbed his legs and, as they carried him away, back along the path the group of robed men had taken, the woman’s new companions walked along side, watching him with those same melancholy stares.
The treasure hunters continued to shout but the sounds grew fainter and Elliot knew they were running away, not interested in coming to his aid. And chances were they hadn’t known he’d been watching them and had merely heard the screaming. What else would they do? With this many crazies in the woods, it was a good bet those men knew about them and had experience with how dangerous they were. Of course they’d run. Elliot would’ve done the same.
Unless it was Evajean the woman in red had captured. Then he wouldn’t have run. He twisted and writhed, knowing it would do nothing because these men were so damn strong, but he had to get away from them. He had to find her because what if she were out there running away from the crazies, too? What if she’d been captured and needed his help? How could he keep her safe if he couldn’t even get out of the grasp of these four insane men and this one insane woman?
The others came in closer now, wanting to see him up close, like kids jostling for a view of blood on the playground. Elliot hissed at them, still kicking out with his legs and jerking his arms, and a couple backed up. But the rest only stepped nearer and one of the suits had to shout for them to back up. Their pace improved then and Elliot lost track of the distance. It seemed a very long way.
Eventually he gave up his struggle. This wasn’t defeat, he told himself, but rather a conservation of energy, preparing himself to fight his way free again when a better opportunity arose.
Some time later, they set him down on hard earth. With so many of the crazies walking along side, he’d had little opportunity to see any of the journey except glimpses of night sky and the tops of trees. He figured they’d gone a quarter mile at least, and maybe as many as two. What that meant, he realized with sudden depression, was that, even if he manage to get away, he was now completely lost in the mountains, after dark, with no compass or GPS or cellphone. Since Callie had been so young when they’d moved out here and the constant pressures of raising her and working on their marriage had been overwhelming, the family hadn’t ever gotten around to spending much time in the high country. Elliot didn’t know how many roads went through here, whether finding water would be a problem, or even if it got terribly cold late into the night. His wilderness survival chances were, in short, not the kind you’d want to bet on.
He looked around, lifting his head up the moment the men let go of him. The cave was small but still comfortably fit him, the four crazies who’d ported him through the forest, and woman in red. She was near the back, poking at a burned down fire, the embers giving off a glow that intensified the color of her dress, making her seem almost spiritual or god like. She wasn’t paying any attention to him, but the four men were, and Elliot didn’t feel the time was right to make his break for the cave’s mouth.
It was this he studied now, and was dismayed to see that it was nearly covered over completely with a line of more crazies, some facing into the cave, others with their backs to it, a line of soldiers keeping careful watch in all directions. Unlike the woman in red and her immediate companions, these crazies had that glazed over look he and Evajean has seen in the swarm on the road, the blank stares and faces slack except for the occasional twitching of mouths as they muttered and gibbered. Elliot found he was less scared of them than the ones in the cave. Their emptiness meant he could likely outsmart them by moving quickly enough, but the woman in red and the men in suits were coherent and thinking.
Elliot turned his head back to the fire when he heard the woman say something. She was talking to the shorter suit, who’d walked over to her, the two of them close. The taller suit saw Elliot watching and nudged his leg with his foot, shaking his head. Elliot, not knowing what the two were saying anyway, obeyed and focused his attention elsewhere, this time at the ceiling of the cave. He hadn’t seen them before, because his eyes weren’t adjusted to the dull glow of the nearly dead fire, but now he could make out symbols drawn on the rough rock, lines and squiggles in ash and chalk. He recognized them immediately as the same symbols drawn in the circles on the trees. Had the crazies done that? Or were they merely copying the work of others?
He wasn’t tied down and that was good. Did they sleep? he wondered. He rolled onto his side and no one protested. When he sat up, the crazies watching him only glared, giving him “don’t try anything funny” looks. Slowly, keeping his movements as unthreatening as he could manage, Elliot stood up.
The tall suit put a hand on his shoulder but didn’t push him back down. Elliot looked at him hard, without flinching, trying to make it very clear that, while he wasn’t going to run, he also wasn’t going spend the night cowering on the cave floor. The suit leaned in at Elliot and pulled his lips back from his teeth. Whether it was a grin or a snarl, Elliot couldn’t tell.
Up close, the man looked weathered but healthy, like he’d been though a rough hiking vacation and hadn’t had time to recover. He was young, in his thirties at most, and Elliot found himself thinking of the guy less as a crazy or a zombie and more the way he’d see a police officer in a third world country: you know he’s trouble and can hurt you but it’s okay to assume he’s working on rational set of rules that can be exploited-if only you knew what they were.
The woman in red walked over now, running her hand across the tall suit’s back as she went by, and Elliot saw him stiffen at the contact. She was their leader but what kind? He wished he know how the crazies were organizing themselves-and what they were organizing for. And, he wondered, where had they come from? Everyone he’d seen get sick had died. With the Wal-mart woman, it might have just been a case of a single person going mad with grief. In fact, he was surprised they hadn’t seen more of those. But ever since the swarm on the road, these things had been in huge numbers, and with their own distinct way of doing things. Was it related to the sickness? He didn’t know.
The woman in red stopped in front of him. She turned back to the taller suit and gestured, asking him to give her something. He did: a small, pencil like object taken from the pocket of his pants. It was gold, Elliot saw, as she took it and held it up in front of her face. Gold and slim. It might have been a pen except there wasn’t a point, nothing to actually write with. Clarine had given him a Palm Pilot for Christmas once and it’d come with something similar, a stylus, but his was grey plastic and he’d lost it within a week of opening the box.
The woman in red waved this at him, acting like he ought to know what it was, ought to recognize its significance. He didn’t, of course, and he shrugged his shoulders to tell her this. She gave him a frustrated look, then turned and walked over to one of the walls. She began scratching at it with the golden stylus, making white lines in the soft rock. It was the runes she was drawing, just like the trees and the roof of the cave. They had done them all, he thought. It could be their language. But that was nuts. These were crazy people, insane from something-he didn’t know what-but just insane, nonetheless. People like that don’t make up language, they don’t make up writing systems. They just say weird things until someone gives them the right medication.