Cat and Mouse
Professor Mifflin drove cautiously through the deep night, past the vague reflection of Mohican Lake to his left. His headlights were turned off. Oak Tree Road had never offered any streetlights and in those days there were no reflective pavement markers. This had forced the innovative professor into equipping his Ford truck with an infrared night-vision system.
From the vehicle’s dashboard, a pop-out screen clearly showed the road ahead under IR spectral range. The professor never took his eyes off the screen as he drove. Next to him sat Tilda and Zendara. The rest of the young exiles rode behind in the truck bed, no longer joking and prankish, but silent.
Mifflin suddenly brought the truck to a stop. “Here we go,” he said, pointing to an image that appeared on the screen. He pressed a button and the grainy image zoomed in, becoming much clearer. It was a police car ahead, with its own lights off.
“Just over three thousand feet,” said Zendara.
“Yes, and they look asleep,” added the professor, “as I hoped they would be at this hour. Are you ready, Tilda?”
She peered ahead into the dark. “I’ve snuck around the fuzz a lot without being caught,” she said. “But not like this. Yeah, I’m ready.”
Zendara banged the cab’s rear window, signaling his friends. “Let’s go, we’re up!” Brage and Tybain leapt out from the truck bed.
Dyllion and Theel lowered Tilda’s bicycle down to Brage and Tybain. Dyllion was grinning in amusement, which Tybain quickly noticed. “What are you looking at?” he asked. “Was this your idea?”
“Not me,” answered Dyllion, suppressing a laugh. “The professor’s.”
“Yeah,” said Tybain, curling his lip in annoyance. “I believe that.”
“Look, if she rubs you, Ty, please,” said Brage. “No punching her in the head, okay?”
“I can’t make any promises.”
“You do that,” stated Dyllion, “and you better worry where she’s going to slug you back.” They quietly laughed to themselves, all but Tybain.
One of the two officers sitting in the patrol car just ahead was out cold asleep. The partner next to him in the driver’s seat struggled to stay awake— his heavy head clumsily nodded, then jerked upwards with a sharp snore. With each lurch, he would blink once or twice and repeat the motion.
When his loudest snore scraped itself out from his nose and mouth, he woke himself. The officer licked his dry lips as he vigorously rubbed his eyes. When he stretched them open with his fingers, he jumped in alarm, seeing something out of the patrol car’s windshield. A young girl was riding her bike straight towards them.
“Hey, hey, wake up, what’s this?” he stammered, nudging the officer next to him. His partner snapped to attention with a sharp breath. At the girls’ approach, he switched on his headlights, along with the cars’ two overhead police beacons. The girl seemed agitated and upset as she neared them.
When they both stepped out from the car, Tilda jumped from her bike and ran toward them. She wrapped her arms around the driver’s side officer in great relief.
“Thank goodness, I found someone!” she cried out amidst realistic looking tears.
“What’s happened, miss?” asked the officer. “What are you doing out here at this hour?”
“I’ve been lost!” blurted out Tilda, in a wave of well acted panic. “For hours! Then someone was following me, until they must have seen your car and ran away. It was scary! I didn’t know what to do!”
“Tilda Jentiss,” said the second officer, recognizing her. “I know all about your antics. What are you up to?”
The lead officer frowned at his partner. “C’mon, Wayne, she’s pretty upset.” He gently released Tilda, reassuring her with a smile. “Who do you think was following you?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, trying to calm herself. “But whoever it was, they dropped something there along the road,” she said, pointing. “When I went back to look at it, I found a gun!”
“A gun?” asked Wayne, the second officer, his suspicion mounting. “Where?”
She let go of the officer and got back on her bike. “Follow me!” she said, waving them on. She pedaled off to the roadside, about thirty feet away.
With a glance and sigh between them, the officers followed.
From the roads’ opposite shoulder, a shadow quickly moved up to the rear of the police car. Tybain carefully made his way to the passenger door. With hardly a sound, he opened it.
“I don’t see anything,” said Wayne.
“It was here, it was right here!” insisted Tilda.
“Do you know if the gun was loaded?” asked the first officer, still willing to give Tilda the benefit of the doubt. His partner shot him a dubious sneer.
Tilda got off her bike and began searching the area, which she followed with a perfect impression of exasperation. “I don’t understand,” she said, “it couldn’t have just vanished!” The first officer bent to the ground, searching closer as Tilda took a step back. Neither of them noticed her glance toward the police car.
In spite of his shoulder injury, Tybain worked efficiently. He then clicked the sidebar of the HT radio in his pocket. “Done,” he said. “Moving out.” He had securely fastened a small round device just under the dashboard. Retreating from under the front seat on his stomach, his timing would have been perfect. Instead, he dropped the small tool he had been using onto the floorboard. In the dark, he could not find it.
“Good, because you’re out of time,” Zendara’s voice informed him. “They’re coming back.”
Tybain remained calm, continuing to search, his hands and fingers rummaging everywhere. “Ty, move!” Zendara warned. “Move out now!”
The first officer opened the rear driver’s side door and stuffed Tilda’s bike in. His very annoyed partner escorted Tilda to the passenger door. He seemed curious when he found it not closed all the way, as he motioned Tilda to get in. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t know what happened.” She slid onto the middle of the seat, followed by the officers on either side. “Just take me home now.”
“That’s where you’re going,” said Wayne, reaching for the vehicle’s radio mic. He never spoke into it. Immediately, a high-pitched squeal burst forth from the device under the dashboard. Both officers cupped their hands over their ears. The sound quickly faded from earshot, but judging from the victim’s reactions, it did not cease. They dug at their temples, trying to shield themselves from the ultra-high frequency. Tilda watched them in a mixture of awe and alarm. In fifteen seconds, both their heads drooped, appearing asleep as they were minutes ago, yet now unconscious.
Tilda removed the two small pieces of webbed material from her ears, which protected her, while the head of Tybain popped up from the passenger window. He inspected the officers, then clicked his radio. “We got ‘em,” he said. “Out cold.”
Zendara’s voice crackled in return. “Check, we’re coming to you.”
“How long will they be out?” asked Tilda, tentatively studying the officers as if they would suddenly awaken.
“An hour or so,” replied Tybain. He extended Tilda a reluctant hand.
“What took you so long?” she grumbled, nudging his hand aside, scoffing at his courteous gesture. “I thought you and your ditzy gang were supposed to be sharp. I heard you get away just in time when we got back to the car. You almost blew it!”
She was not exaggerating. Tybain had found his tool and slipped out from the police vehicle with only seconds to spare. If he was caught, there was still the sound device, but it had a range of several feet only. For it to work, the police had to be in the car.
“It’s done now, so take it easy,” said Tybain. He offered his hand again. “You gonna sit there and ride shotgun all night?”
“Flake off,” she said, looking away as Professor Mifflin’s truck pulled up.
Tybain dropped his hand. “You belong in the back seat,” he jeered, walking away.
Mifflin speculated as he drove onwards along Oak Tree Road. He was gambling on what he knew of Dan Radich and how he operated. After four days, he felt the sheriff would no longer keep multiple blockades along the county roads overnight. He was optimistic the patrol car they had just left was all they should be concerned with.
“What was it that knocked the cops out?” asked Tilda, again sitting between him and Zendara.
“Just a basic ultrasonic beam emitter I threw together,” said the professor. They’re both good officers, but I don’t envy the headache or the sheriff’s wrath they’re going to suffer when they wake.”
“Couldn’t we have used it the first time we tried to get past?” said Zendara.
“Not with the multiple roadblocks they had then,” said the professor. “Nor without someone on the outside like Tilda to aid us. At any rate, let us keep our fingers crossed. Woldred is only two miles ahead, and from there we should be worry free.”
Marie’s head throbbed as she rubbed it. She was lying on her back. Sitting up and peering around at the woods left her quite confused.
It was late afternoon, serene and still. She was in some kind of clearing. The trees reflected the light with a soft green glow. At the clearing’s edge, she saw what looked like giant mushrooms that grew in a circle. This image jogged a memory, but it was vague. Looking to her left, she noticed a large mass lying upon the ground.
When she stood, she could see it was the carcass of a large animal. Taking a few steps closer, Marie then remembered it was the wounded bear. Memory flooded back. She spun around, facing the slope of the Faeriaye hillock. Her pack was strewn upon the ground several feet away. What happened to Perion and Courinn? Moments later, an icy chill crept over her. What about— Gwylligwitch?
After a few minutes surveying the terrain, Marie grabbed her pack and slung it over her shoulders. She badly wanted to call out her friends’ names, but was fearful of the unwanted attention it might bring.
She then realized she was very hungry and thirsty. Reaching into her pack, she was struck with a sudden spell of dizziness. She stumbled and then dropped to a sitting position. A forcible desire to sleep overcame Marie as she yawned. It took a full minute of concentration to cast the strains of slumber aside.
Before she rose again, Marie took another sandwich from her pack. Sealed in wax paper by Corporal Delk’s people, it still appeared quite fresh. As she ate, she took her water flask and drank deeply. She knew it was not smart to guzzle so much at a time, but she rationalized the long draught being in lieu of her restriction to eat or drink anything of the Faeriaye, though it all looked and smelled so unbelievably tempting.
What was she to do now? Were her friends still within the Faeriaye realm? Marie stared at the hillock, knowing she would never be able to get back inside herself to find out. The thought of returning was so tempting and she thought of Steavyn and the wonderful, but far too brief time with him.
“No, not now,” she reasoned, forcing herself to focus on the riddle before her. What happened? She remembered seeing the trollogre’s massive hand coming at them. She knew it must have grabbed Courinn, recalling the severe lurch, then fleeting resistance, before being hurled forward. She would have been thrust from the enchanted realm alone, without her friends. Marie began pacing back and forth, as she tried to think logically, like her hero always did on her favorite teevee show.
If her companions were caught, Marie reasoned, Gwylligwitch would have killed them. But the monster would not have remained in the hill. She would have come out and found Marie lying on the ground. But if her friends escaped, why didn’t they find her? It didn’t make sense.
As she continued pacing, Marie glanced at the bear’s remains, noticing something odd. She took a few steps closer. It was fly-ridden and foul, but Marie realized the carcass looked like it had been there for some time.
That didn’t make sense either. How long could she have been?— and then the answer came to her, mixed with a sudden uneasiness. She did not depart the magical realm with Perion and Courinn; she exited alone. Time, as she knew it, had changed. How much time had gone by since Marie had saved them from the bear? From the corpse remains, Marie guessed it was not more than two or three days. Since then, her friends must have gone looking for her.
As this occurred to her, Marie continued staring blankly at the carnivore cadaver. When her focus returned, she spotted something lying on the ground, stuck within a clump of fallen leaves only inches from the bear’s open paw. Marie stepped closer and yanked away a length of hair— braided together in two different colors.
Marie laughed out loud. Half the braid was the nearly flaxen hair of Perion, intertwined with Courinn’s tresses of black. Marie immediately understood: Her friends could not guess how far in the future Marie would emerge from the enchanted realm, but the condition of the animal’s corpse, if it were still there, might reveal to her a clue. And if Marie were studying the bear’s state, trying to puzzle out the riddle, that would be the place to leave some kind of marker. Plus, a lock of hair would decompose much slower than the rest of the animal’s remains, prolonging the chance to be seen if Marie came upon it weeks or months later.
She held up the braid. “Okay, you were both here,” she said aloud. “Hopefully no more than a couple of days ago. But how do I guess which way you went?”
Her answer came floating upon a gentle breeze, though Marie did not at first understand it. The light wind became stronger and more noticeable as it swept the fallen leaves up in a circular pattern around her. The rush of air swung the braid upwards, then down, up then down. Marie glanced about; she knew there was something magical occurring. All at once her eyes froze on the braid in her hand, swaying in the gusty air, always in the same direction. It was pointing a way for her— a way to follow.
She grinned and shook her head. “What will they come up with next?”
The braid indicated Marie should continue from the hillock’s far side. Off she went.
It became an oddly unsettling sensation. The farther she made her way alone, the more Marie felt she was being watched. She had already tried several times to face away from the breeze, yet the braid continued to point the same course. That, Marie felt, was like someone you could not see, helping you along. “Very ghostly,” she kept thinking. She had only traveled an hour or so, yet twice more she had fallen under the same cloud of sleepiness. Each time it came upon her suddenly and she was forced to sit and struggle against nodding off.
The terrain she passed through now was full of rocks, hilly and uneven. She made her way up several ascents, only to lead down, zigzagging between large girders of stone. Two of these descents had sharp fall-offs in places where Marie had to carefully pick her way along.
Climbing over another tangle of massive tree roots barring her way, Marie peered up, noting the emerald haze of the wood beginning to turn pale gray. Night was coming fast and with it the ever-mounting notion that something was nearby, patiently watching and following her. Marie also marked that the oak and ash trees with their ceaseless, serpentine branches began to grow ever larger in size and sprawl, transmuting into frightening shapes. She remembered the old stories about sinister looking trees coming alive after dark. Her confrontation with the hate-filled mydrus combatants brought those disturbing memories to life. Yet what Marie would face this night, her first night out in the wood, all alone, far outstripped anything her imagination could have ever conjured.
The lower part of the wood was already in darkness. What remained visible were the treetops only, sharply silhouetted against the pale day’s end. Marie kept on for another few minutes, before she was forced to halt. She could no longer see where the enchanted braid of hair pointed. Marie grudgingly admitted she could go no further until sunrise. She needed to find a place to set herself down and sleep.
Marie cast a reluctant eye upwards. As if the twilight desired to maliciously besiege her jittery senses, the contours of the shadowy wood sprang to life as immense, wicked demons and monsters that she could have sworn were encroaching all about her. She held her breath to control her fright, as a shivery chill crept up her spine. The vexing fear that she was being watched and followed returned. With an audible shudder, Marie shrank to the ground where she stood and curled up in a ball, hiding her face in her arms. All light soon disappeared and a pitch-blackness Marie had never known invaded everything.
Her hand felt for the globe amulet in her pocket. It began to glow faintly as she drew it out in front of her. She could see nothing but ominous tree boles, roots and underbrush. Replacing the charm around her neck, Marie thought she spotted several pairs of eyes that a second later went dark.
“Who the heck woulda’ thought a week ago,” she said out loud, “that I’d be lying in the middle of Spellhollow Wood ... at night.” She slipped the pack off her shoulders. Reaching into it, Marie pulled out a thin blanket, courtesy of Corporal Delk. She nestled back and draped it over her, curling up as comfortable as she could get.
She scratched her cheek thoughtfully, once again holding up her charm. It grew brighter with the image of her mother appearing, looking concerned, as if she knew that Marie were all alone in the wood.
“But a week ago,” Marie reiterated, studying her mother’s image, “I never knew I had a mother.”
As if in answer, her mother spoke. “Take heart, Emily. You are not far away now. I am with you, every step.” She placed her fingers to her lips and blew a kiss, which she always did whenever her little Emily was frightened or troubled. Marie returned the gesture as the globe faded. She tucked it back under her shirt.
She lay quiet for several more minutes, letting her ears adjust to the woods’ vacuum of sound. She could hear nothing, except that of her own breathing. There was no breeze wafting over branches or leaves; no sound of owls or other nightly creatures; no song of crickets or any insects. In short measure, it became very disturbing. Marie tried to close her eyes and forget where she was, but how could she sleep when the noise of her own respiration seemed to echo within like a steam engine?
In addition, any other noise she made was somehow instantly absorbed. It reminded her of a snowy day’s muffled, dead air, but this was a hundred times worse. When Marie coughed, which she did twice, it felt like something reached out to hungrily swallow it up. She was soon convinced the woods were making sure nothing of her existence would survive this night.
“I hope I find Perion and Courinn tomorrow,” she said fearfully. “I can’t do this all alone. I can’t.”
The aggregate effect of this sensory nightmare swiftly set her nerves in tatters and Marie found herself trembling with fright under her blanket. As brave as she had been so far, as emboldening as her mother’s words were, she could not shake the sense of dread that was clutching at every part of her. When she found herself crying, she had no clue when she had started.
“Mommy, please, help me!” she wept. Her sobbing was strangled into the horrendous oblivion trapping her. Then mercilessly, when she at last teetered on the precarious fringes of sleep, all her nightmares were abruptly thrust before her and the meaning of horror was redefined.
With no warning, an immense crash thundered through the wood. After the ghostly silent world Marie had inhabited, the noise scorched her mind. She leapt to her feet and screamed, feeling like her heart and lungs had exploded inside of her.
The crashing was very close. How could anything have moved that near to her in the stillness without warning? Perhaps some kind of magic or spell that prevented her from hearing what she should have? The question assailed Marie in confusion as she withdrew her shimmering charm, madly searching around her.
It came too fast. There was no choice but to grab her pack and run. In the brief second before she fled, she saw something in her amulet’s glow: huge and powerful it was, something black, gray and red. As this smeared image registered in her brain, it also triggered a memory. She had seen it once before: that day, that terrible day. She had come into these woods to find it and now it had found her. In response, all she could do was run for her life.
She sprinted as fast as she could, through the complete black of the forest, unable to see anything, anywhere. It was, come to life, all the childhood nightmares we share of the dark and the horror that lay within it. The electrifying fear of something reaching out and brutally seizing Marie from any direction, froze her gasping breath. She knew she had to suppress the prying door in her psyche that held shut all these thoughts, knowing that if that door broke open, she would suffer unimaginable panic and terror.
Instead, she navigated herself with her arms and fingers outstretched before her, scraping and smashing them through the trees. It was a far cry from the dark sections of the county fair’s haunted house. She tripped and fell hard over the thick, entrenched roots at least three times, probably more, cutting her legs and wrists. At each fall, she heaved herself up and ran on, until the spell of sleep accosted her once again. She slapped herself hard across the face, twice, forcing it away and raced ahead.
The monster’s pursuit did not let up. Marie heard the disgusting noises it made, as if endlessly choking on its own phlegm. She remembered its wretched odor from three years ago and how it gagged her. Here it was again, coming ever closer as she gulped in the air rushing past her, fleeing blindly through the night. Marie tucked her gleaming charm away under her shirt for fear of being spotted. But soon, the adrenaline rush that set her racing like mad began to ebb. A new panic set in, knowing she would not be able to outpace her enemy.
As her burning legs began to give out, Marie was abruptly struck yet again by déjà vu’— of having somehow once been in this same situation: chased through the night by something terrible. Looking down, she saw she was now carrying something large and shiny gold, which threw off a faint glimmer and showed her clothes appearing different. Instead of her simple shirt and dungarees, she now wore a dirty, frock-like gown with a sash at the waist, long stockings and leather shoes that strapped over the instep. She heard a thick, craggy voice call out to her several times, but not by the name Marie or Emily. It was calling her ‘Charlotte.’
She had mere seconds to question all this. With the inhuman sounds of the monster creeping up behind her, Marie cried out as the ground below suddenly ended. Her feet met only air, her legs buckled under her and she fell forward, painfully tumbling down a sharp fall-off. Unable to stop her momentum, she crashed over rocks and through prickly underbrush, severely banging her arm and shoulder along the way. When Marie at last came to a halt, she hardly knew what had happened and as she was already beset by total darkness, there was no noticeable difference as she entered unconsciousness.
Marie woke to another nightmare. Her legs and arms were twisted in a tangle of barbed shrubs. As she tried to move, sharp thorns tore her skin. She couldn’t budge her right forearm. Touching it, she felt a sharp pain race through her shoulder. Using her other hand, Marie slowly unstuck herself from the shrubs. With a bitter groan, she pulled herself onto her side. When she propped herself up with her good arm, she confronted her terror.
Giant bloodsucking worms surrounded her, this time oozing out from the damp earth. They wrapped themselves around her extremities and mercilessly pulled at her. She suffered excruciating pain in her right forearm and realized it was broken. As more larger and deadlier worms slivered over her torso, she knew they were intent on squeezing every last drop of blood from her. She then looked up, through an open clearing in the woods, revealing a perfectly blue sky. Someone was hurtling downward through the air. It was Steavyn, come to rescue her ... .
“Steavyn!” shouted Marie as she woke. It was still night and she could still see nothing. She quickly realized much of her dream had come true. Her legs and arms were twisted in a tangle of prickly shrubs. As she tried to move, sharp thorns tore at her skin. She groaned and discovered she could not move her right forearm. Excruciating pain raced up through her shoulder when she touched it. Her dream suggested what she already knew: her arm was broken. Using her other hand, Marie patiently freed herself from the thorns. Moaning bitterly, she hauled herself onto her back.
Marie laid motionless for a long while, listening. There was no sound of the trollogre. Of course, that meant nothing. In the blackness, the beast could have been sitting right next to her at this moment, toying with her. How long was she passed out? What time was it? She wished she could return to her dream, just as Steavyn rescued her.
“Well if you’re there sitting next to me,” she said out loud, “please don’t waste my time. Do what you want and get it over with. At least it would get me out of this confusticated darkness.” She grinned widely at her impulse to quote Professor Mifflin. She hadn’t thought of him or the boys for some time. She badly wanted to see them again, along with Courinn and Perion, alive and well.
Then she heard something far away. She listened further. Yes, she could hear the creature out there, somewhere, looking for her. If she was going to survive this night, Marie had to come up with a plan of action. With a tremendous amount of effort, she moved her right arm a few inches.
After several more minutes, Marie realized her left leg was lying over something. She kicked at it, pulling it toward her. Her pack! With good fortune, it had tumbled down and landed with her. Searching through it with her good hand, Marie found something she had forgotten about. She could not see it, but she knew what it was— a good-sized jar of fresh peanut butter. If Corporal Delk was right, it was her only defense.
Marie spent the next half hour trying to get up while getting her pack on. This took an appreciable force of will as she was badly battered from her fall. She could feel wetness on her fingers and arm. Tasting it, she confirmed it was her blood. Most importantly, she had to work through the pain of her broken limb while gradually and patiently setting it in some type of sling. She could not have her arm simply hanging at her side without considerable distress. Her father had broken his wrist once, but refused to stop working. He showed Marie how to make his own cast and sling so he could still repair tractor engines, while selectively using both his good and injured arms. Marie was amazed and never forgot it. She now relied on the same technique her father imparted. She tore a strip of her blanket apart and, using her teeth, tied it around her shoulder. Then it was simply a matter of putting the bad arm through small, limited motions while gradually tolerating that level of pain. The theory was, as you continued, the hurt would lessen a bit. Either that or your tolerance level increased. Marie wasn’t sure; she only knew it worked. Eventually, she secured her arm firmly enough so she could move about without too much stress on it.
In the time Marie spent doing this, she could hear the trollogre much closer now. Was it tracking her scent again? If so, it was time to put her plan into action. Holding the jar of peanut butter, she realized her new dilemma. How could she open it with a broken arm? With further strained effort, she lowered herself and searched blindly for a hand-sized rock. Finding one, Marie wedged the rock between the jar and the flat tin lid sealing it—a detail Marie should have expected from the historically accurate corporal, who would not have used a modern screw-on lid.
She pried up the tin cover with as much force as her left hand could muster, but it would not dislodge. The sounds of rustling leaves, along with breaking sticks grew close now, distinctly marking the approach of the trollogre, undoubtedly descending the slope Marie had fallen down.
Marie pushed the rock harder with her good hand as tightly as she could. It wasn’t enough. She needed more leverage.
“Of all the things to go wrong, come on!” she barked loudly in frustration. Moments later, her blood froze. The choking sounds and disgusting smell reached her ears and nose. The beast was only a short distance away. She could hear small rocks mixed with earth sliding down past her. In desperation, Marie unclasped her injured arm from its sling and gripped the jar along with her left hand. She held her breath and exerted force on her broken arm, crying out in misery and nearly fainting. There was the sound of a pop, followed by crumbling glass. The jar broke open, releasing its sealed vacuum.
Marie felt the jar’s sticky sealing wax around its sharp, glass edges, knowing she cut herself again. She could not believe her ill luck. How was she ever going to stick her fingers into the shattered jar in pitch dark, without cutting herself further?
“Gwylligwitch!” Marie shouted out in anger. The stabbing pain in her arm had momentarily swept away any fear. Right now, she didn’t care. “If you want me, come and get me!” The approaching sounds ceased, followed by silence. During that brief stillness, Marie sincerely regretted her outburst. Then, in answer a ferocious cry erupted forth, demanding to know who had the temerity to shout the beast’s real name.
Marie grabbed a squishy blob of peanut butter, gathered herself up and re-slung her arm. For a second time, she blindly ran from her attacker. Her left hand holding the jar had to also feel her away ahead. As she hoped, the ground leveled aga